All The Spares
by Only Some Stardust
Summary: It's the classic Dark Harry fic... or not. When the hero refuses the call, it's up the Spares, the Unchosen ones, to be the heroes. Insane!Harry, Nuanced/In-Character Dumbledore and Snape, Nuanced/In-Character Dursleys. World's first Bashfail!fic (to my knowledge), Harry tries to bash and faces realistic consequences for it.
1. Year One, Nixabundas

**All The Spares**

**Chapter One, Nixabundus - Striving to Live**

_Summary: _It's the classic Dark Harry fic... or not. When the hero refuses the call, it's up the Spares, the Unchosen ones, to be the heroes. Strategist!Ron, Tamer!Ron, Trickster!Ron, Nuanced/In-Character!Dumbledore, Trickster!Draco.

_Alt:_ No hands are shaken on the train, and the simplest of actions has unexpected consequences. Bashfail!fic

Author Foreword (Skippable):

The Harry in this fic is based on many super!Harry and dark!Harry fics. In this fic, Harry tries to act like his fanon Gary Sue counterparts who bash everyone in First Year and faces realistic consequences for it (well, to a degree, because Dumbledore loves to control his pet savior, and Harry really IS quite rich and famous, and sometimes he even has a point _). However, that's really not the main point of the fic, though it is the catalyst for this AU.

Instead, this is to give focus on the unchosen ones – particularly Ron, because he gets so muuuuch hate, even though he could just as easily have his annoying attributes removed just like everyone does for Harry (who, even in canon, is a little _Unforgivable Curse_ abusing bastard and hardly a studious Ravenclaw or even hard working Hufflepuff). If one simply bothered to give Ron some of the skills of his older siblings, like curse-breaking and dragon taming, and emphasized the chess aspect and what it's like to be in a large family where you get ignored all the time, he might actually be a salvageable character. I know he's a git, but so is Draco and Draco gets lots of love; I want to show it is totally arbitrary what characters you lift up and polish. Ron also gets some hate because they altered him to be more obnoxious in the movies; in the books it was not Ron who uttered the 'All dark wizards are from Slytherin' line for the first time, but Hagrid.

Also, while I firmly believe Dumbledore is a jackass, I may, for the sake of amusement, be showing the possible more sympathetic interpretations just to show off how much of a moron Harry is for automatically assuming he's pure evil in so many fics. If nothing else, I don't believe a master manipulator like him wouldn't have good excuses. Same for Snape, I usually don't care for fics that try to shove him in either pure good or pure evil box; he's more nuanced than that.

Also, nuanced!Dursleys, because they are demonized all out of proportion. Yes, they are neglectful. No, they did not beat him and starve him half to death. He's described as a bit skinny, not rib and hip bones coated in scars. When Vernon says he should have tried to beat the magic out of him, that clearly indicates he _didn't_ beat him and wishes he had. It's a horrible thing to say, but still. Plus, Harry acted like someone who was totally unafraid of the Dursleys and didn't believe a thing they said about him, so I don't think the verbal abuse was all that frequent either and more directed at magic than him most of the time, not that such makes it much better, but it does make them less one dimensional.

Fear of magic is quite justified for them; there are psycho dark lords out there and almost every wizard they've met has been a bully of some sort determined to torment them or disdain them. From Petunia describing Lily as 'blown up', it's likely wizards couldn't even be bothered to describe in detail how her sister even died and she had to piece it together from the papers. I'd hate wizards too after that. Frankly, I'm just tired of bash!fic where you never hear the other side of the story. Even if they are terrible, it doesn't hurt to give a character a voice to defend themselves.

* * *

><p><em>(First Year, Start of Term)<em>

**R.W**

"Wow, are you really Harry Potter?" his eyes lit up. "Can I see it? You know, the, ah, scar?"

When Ron Weasley had heard Harry Potter, the boy who lived himself, was on the train, he'd been ecstatic. He had hoped, but hadn't known that he'd actually get to meet him! Imagine if he could be friends. Boy would Ginny be so jealous! Admittedly, he wasn't quite as he'd imagined him- he'd thought he'd be taller.

"No," Potter scowled. "I am not a zoo animal. If I hear one more person blabbering about how I'm Harry bloody Potter, I am going to hex someone."

"Oh, sorry."

He hadn't thought of it like that. If it had been him, he'd have been glad to show off. He never got any attention at home, what with all his other siblings. He wasn't even the youngest child; that was Ginny, and she got doted on for it. "Um, would you like a sandwich?" he offered.

"No thank you. If I'm not mistaken, that's the food trolley over there." Harry eyed the cart and stood up. "I'll have some of everything."

Ron watched, with some envy, as the boy simply doled out money and got a whole lapful of candy to himself. The boy did not offer to share. Ron decided it was probably because Ron already had food. Yes, that had to be it.

"Do you like Quidditch? My favorite team is the Canons."

"No, I don't. I hate the idea of nearly getting murdered fifty feet in the air by things spelled to kill you."

Ron was beginning to despair of this. Harry Potter didn't like Quidditch?! How could anyone hate it? "It's way safer for wizards to fall than muggles; I reckon there's never been a death at Hogwarts. Besides, it's not like you'll be playing it First Year. They don't even allow firsties-" Firsties? He'd been spending too much time around Fred and George. "first-years their own brooms."

"That's comforting." Harry snarked, opinion unchanging.

Just then, the compartment door opened. Although they had never met personally, he could tell by description it could only be one person. Malfoy. Well, Malfoy and his two goons, Crabbe and Goyle.

And Malfoy, it seemed, held the same opinion towards Ron that Ron did him. The blonde haired boy rattled on against his family, remarked he'd heard Harry Potter was on the train, and made an offer to 'help him meet the right sort of people'.

"No way, Malfoy. Harry would never be friends with the likes of you!" Ron protested. "He'd much rather be friends with me, right?"

Harry stared at Draco's extended hand, and then looked right toward Ron. For a moment, Ron breathed a sigh of relief. Then Harry spoke. "I'm not interested in being friends with either of you, or any of you fame obsessed, shallow little people who'll simply betray me in the future when it suits their jealousy." The dark haired boy sneered at the two of them. "I'll make my own way, thank you very much."

Betray? He wouldn't betray him! And how did he know what Ron was like, he'd only just met him, and he'd even _said _sorry about asking about the scar thing. He'd tried to share his sandwich! He'd, he'd... he'd just wanted to be friends. He was eleven, he had no comprehension of what fame entailed, he'd simply thought Harry had sounded like a cool guy. Heroes in stories after all were always nice. But Potter wasn't nice at all; he was actually pretty mean and grumpy. Getting grumpy himself, he wasn't even cheered by how flabbergasted Draco was or how Goyle screamed when Scabbers bit him on the finger and made the trio go away. He simply pouted silently until it was time to change. Privately, a part of him regretted being rude to the Granger girl when she appeared, but he didn't really know how to interact with girls. Or it seemed anyone who wasn't family at all, it felt like.

He arrived at Hogwarts without a single friend.

* * *

><p><strong>S.S<strong>

On his very first Potions lesson, Harry Potter made quite a scene. Namely, he attempted to sack the Potions Professor... who was also his own head of house. Harry had been sorted into Slytherin.

Severus Snape was not pleased.

"Contrary to whatever silly little beliefs you have Potter," Snape highly enjoyed telling the little snot. "your parents did not have a seat on the Hogwarts board, nor were the Potters 'entitled' to such simply for being pure bloods descended from story book characters," he sneered. "Peverells indeed. You will note a genuine heir of Hufflepuff resides in this school, and receives no special attention for their heritage. But of course, why I should have expected you to have anything but the bloated ego of your father I have no idea."

"Your conduct as a teacher is completely unacceptable. You're abusive to the students!" Potter raged.

Dumbledore shook his head. Ah, yes, likely embarrassed his golden boy was not quite so golden after all. "Severus has an attitude, I'm aware, but I have never known him to hit or curse a student."

"There's more ways than one to abuse. He's verbally abusive, and he unfairly favors Slytherins over Gryffindors!" Hmm. He couldn't really reveal the whole 'secret Death Eater who can't hand out candies to Gryffindors' thing here, but...

"Mr. Potter, expecting you to_ open a book_ before coming to my lesson and criticizing incompetence is hardly abusive." Though he gleefully admitted he did single out the Gryffindors often and had wanted to take the Savior down a notch from the beginning, Potter's mouthing off really did himself no favors; frankly, he had focused very little on Gryffindors that lesson. "Just because your relatives spoiled you-" Harry glared especially hard at this. Had he hit a soft spot? His little Slytherin was terrible at keeping things off his face. One didn't even need to read his mind... "and never said a harsh word does not mean that I must do the same. I expect a certain level of discipline in my class, and punish those who fail to show it. Making a mistake in a potion can be quite lethal, Mr. Potter."

"I still refuse to call you Professor." Potter folded his arms. "And if I have to take lessons with you, I'll leave the school and go to another wizarding school instead! I'm sure they'll be glad to have The Boy Who Lived!" Hah. The child really had no idea what a mistake he'd made, had he?

"You see, Albus?" Severus's voice held a note of gloating. "The boy is completely unreasonable. The fame has gone to his head."

Albus turned his head towards Harry, eyes sad and tired. "My boy-"

"Don't call me that, you leech! I'm sure you've been stealing money from my Gringotts account- after all, the Dursleys didn't know about it, and you had my key!"

Albus stared, baffled. "I can assure you I've done no such thing. Believe it or not of an old Headmaster, I am not so poor I need to steal money from children," he chuckled, like it was a particularly clever joke. Severus rolled his eyes. "However, I do know that it will not look terribly good to other schools, boy who lived or not, if you get expelled the first day of school. And I hear Durmstrang has a Headmaster just as harsh as old Severus here; they used to hang out with the same acquaintances in fact. I urge you try to get along with the school's professors, at least for a year." Very funny Albus, making faint, veiled references to them both being Death Eaters to the boy. Sometimes, he grew very tired of the all-knowing Albus Dumbledore act. He was very sure Potter was the last person he wanted to know his secrets. "And Severus, please try not to be too hard on the boy."

Too hard? Snape glared. The boy deserved everything he got and more. He was a vain, antisocial little monster who enjoyed taunting the other students, and seemed to think he was the only one allowed to insult people. And insult people he did; it seemed like there were few he didn't spout some hateful nonsense out about being traitors or weaklings or hypocrites.

He could only wait for the year to be over. Or beg Albus for a resorting. Yes, that would be lovely. Somehow, he doubted it would work. The boy might think he was special, but he was hardly special enough to be the first ever student to 'earn' a resorting. As much as Severus wished for an exception in this case.

"That isn't all. Your letter was addressed to my cupboard. You had to know the Dursleys were abusing me!"

"Cupboard?" Snape said, immediately echoed by a confused Dumbledore. Snape also thought to himself that it did not quite add up; usually, abused children are distrusting and reluctant to give up the information of their situation in case it might be turned against them, often being the last to scream that abuse was going on to the heavens. They thought of it as normal, if they had few other examples, or that they deserved it.

He knew, for a short time, that he had.

"Yes, my cupboard under the stairs. The Dursleys forced me to live in one and do all lots of chores and sometimes go to bed without supper, and they let Dudley hit me too much without really doing more than saying 'no no, Dudley'."

"You sleep in a cupboard?"

"Well," Harry flushed. "Not anymore. They gave me a bedroom."

"How did you fit?"

"Well, it was a cupboard big enough to fit a bed inside it. And toys."

"That is an incredibly massive cupboard." Here he'd made it sound like they squeezed him into a little box, but from the sound of it, this cupboard was actually big enough to be a small room. Hardly something to scream abuse about.

"Well," here Harry was taken a bit back, and began to whine. "Vernon once made me go to it without supper! And he only bought me really cheap ice cream when I went to the zoo with Dudley to make himself look normal!" Snape could not resist here; he gave a quick glance over the boy's mind and found that the no meals incident was one in which the man had been suffering a massive nervous break down, though he did not expect a child to understand what that was, he would have thought the incident where Mr. Dursley became so distressed he started tearing out his own hair (an action that makes you bleed) would have put a dent in his entitled self-centered attitude. He was also disgusted to see the boy looked down on the one person who was kind to him, Mrs. Figg, simply for having too many cats, smelling musty and serving cake that was too stale for his tastes. The boy had been bordering on cheerful to see her break her leg. (*unforunately canon)

As for the ice cream, Harry was no mind reader. Clearly they favored Dudley, but absolutely no one would do more than comment, if that, on someone saying that one child did not want ice cream or that the child had gotten into trouble and wasn't allowed any. It could very well have been that there was some tiny, small touch of kindness in the Dursleys, not that such would ever cross the boy's mind; after all, the same memory had them giving him Dudley's left over ice cream when they could have let Dudley finish it all or even throw it out. In that instance they'd actually gone out of their way to give him extra ice cream, when they could have thrown it out in spitefulness or declared he already had some! The boy seemed to resent having left over clothing and toys, but many children and families used left overs – that wasn't abuse, certainly not to the degree the boy seemed to think it was. Left overs were normal and cost effective.

He acted like he'd always known he was the boy who lived, someone rolling in riches and entitled to be spent a pretty penny on, not like someone who had been told he was worthless who should be overjoyed to get left over things. It was strange, really.

"I am sure, deep down Harry, that they do love you. It sounds as if your cousin is perhaps quite a bit spoiled, and that they are a bit hard on you, but many children have plenty of chores, such as on a farm, and go to bed without supper when they have offended their guardians." Dumbledore, as always, was perhaps too optimistic, but even with a loveless pair of guardians and an obnoxious cousin Snape would have happily traded childhood home lives.

Potter's situation was neglectful, certainly, and perhaps in different circumstances he would have sympathized more, but it was rather difficult to care for this little demon brat who seemed convinced he was special and had the worst lot of anyone in the world, woe be him, he who got leftovers and had a tiny room and had to do _chores oh no_.

Severus's own childhood was not something he would ever speak of, or cared to remember. Perhaps it was just the Slytherin in him speaking, but it would have not occurred to his eleven year old self to scream to an authority figure on the injustice of the world – an authority figure who might prove desirous of beating and punishing him. Particularly not a figure like Albus Dumbledore, who could cast him from this school and back to the relatives that he had apparently rescued Harry from whether he cared to remember it or not. If his relatives really were so abusive, there was no way they were actually going to let him go to another school without the threat of a full grown wizard, or allow him to fly his owl to contact said wizards from another school.

And Potter was definitely unaware, apparently, that he could have his wand snapped and be forbidden from magic forever if his behavior was truly atrocious.

For some wizards, expulsion, and the resultant disconnection from their magic and the magic world, might truly be worse than death.

"Potter, do you want your wand snapped?"

"What? No, I, I'll learn wandless magic and use Latin to craft terrible new spells! You'd regret it!"

Severus almost laughed his head off. "Wandless magic? Latin! How _terrifying_! My, Potter, do you have any idea why wizards use wands? Here's a hint, why do_ so many _spells manifest as a jet of light directed from the wand? Because your wand acts as a focus. Without a focus, your magic would go everywhere; you would rapidly drain your magic casting a pitiful handful of spells of weakened power. Many spells cannot be cast without a wand at all; you never hear of accidental magic manifesting green light and murdering someone, do you? And Latin is not how you create spells; I assure you if it was, it would be on the curriculum. Spells are named after Latin, often very badly, not the other way around. That's why there are also spells in other languages."

For the first time, the brat looked truly afraid. "You can't do that. You can't snap my wand."

"We can, if we deem you unable to responsibly use magic and are a threat to yourself and your peers. Look at Hagrid. I suggest if you do not wish to be expelled, that you behave yourself better. And trust me, as your Head of House, I _will_ _not be making excuses for you. _Do I make myself clear?"

Dumbledore looked at Severus disapprovingly, but the Potions Master did not at this point care. He was fixed on the look of fear that finally appeared on the little demon's face as they gulped, and, resentfully spat out, "Yes sir."

"I think it is time you left my office, Harry," Dumbledore said gently. "Please come to me if you have any concerns. I will try to have Professor Snape treat the Gryffindors a little more fairly, if it bothers you so." That did not please Snape much, but at least he could blame it on the headmaster. And seriously, expecting him to open a book and not mouth off at him when he didn't know the answers was not much.

"I could get a new, rarer, more awesome wand made of basilisk fang and yew..."

"Don't be ridiculous. Basilisk fang is not a proper wand core, and in any case basilisks are highly illegal to create. And I'd bet on a phoenix over a basilisk any day even ignoring all that. You already have an insufferably rare wand. I suggest if you do not wish to lose it that you begin to behave yourself."

He hated to say it, but...

Even _James Potter_ was not this much of an ass. This Harry Potter made him almost, _almost_ miss the fellow. Maybe at least his father could talk some sense into the damn brat. No, what was he kidding, then he'd have two demons making his life miserable!

* * *

><p><strong>D.G<strong>

Daphne Greengrass really wasn't sure what to make of her unexpected alliance with the infamous Boy Who Lived. Certainly, he seemed powerful and mysterious, but other times he seemed like a downright fool determined to use what he had like a hammer, and had no idea what the meaning of 'pick your fights' was, though he could certainly talk as if he did (lecturing Draco in a demeaning tone on not picking fights was, ironically, a certain way to start a fight). In any case, she was simply using him, and he was likely using her. Her parents would be pleased that she'd befriended someone with the potential for so much power... as long as she left out his latest escapades and tantrums from her letters home, she decided.

She toed the line, aware there was already a schism forming in Slytherin between Draco and Potter. Some supported Potter, thinking any who could take down the dark lord wasn't one to be trifled with, and some supported Draco, thinking rightly that Potter was a half blood raised by muggles who just didn't know what the hell he was doing. She chose to walk both sides, cooing to both their pathetic little egos and doing her best not to take any positions. The upper years didn't care much, seeing it all as petty squabbles by First Years, which, to a degree, it was; eleven year old politics was not exactly sophisticated.

They'd made something of a deal. Daphne had been very flattered when he'd came to her, asking her to teach him about Pureblood etiquette. She now used it to manipulate him whenever she had the chance, wave it over his head to prevent him from blowing up at her. The truth was, there wasn't a whole lot to it, no multitude of secret codes, no hidden spells only pure-bloods had access to and were forbidden to speak of, no conspiracies like that.

But he seemed to think so, and so she had no problem feeding such nonsense to him. It kept him tied, indebted, to her longer. Uneasily, she felt it was only a matter of time before he started to seek out dark magic. He had gobbled up the pureblood propaganda like a chicken would corn. Propaganda like mixing muggle blood with wizards 'weakened the lines', produced greater numbers of nonmagical children and lost bloodline magics. Propaganda like that muggleborns would die from practicing certain dark magics because they were just so weak. That there were light-aligned magic users and dark-aligned magic users. That dark magic was not _evil_, just dark, even though it usually required malicious intent. That old tripe. She wasn't even sure how much she believed it, but wasn't about to risk saying so in the house of snakes. Greengrass wasn't at all keen to get bitten.

Unfortunately, she felt it might only be a matter of time before Potter turned on her. Had she known what the boy was really like beforehand, she might not have made her little deal in the first place. He was a lion, fearless, and really simply didn't seem to belong. But perhaps he'd find his place in time.

She could only hope, anyway.

* * *

><p><em>First Year, Halloween.<em>

**H.G**

Hermione was so frightened when she heard about the troll. When she realized Ron Weasley wasn't with the rest of the Gryffindors, though, she knew she had to do something. It was all her fault, anyway. She had been the one to snap at him that he didn't have any friends while hanging out with Harry.

For some strange reason, Harry had approached her. He'd wanted to make a deal, said he could tell she was good at homework and wanted to be study partners. Hermione had been elated, having no real friends, but at the same time suspicious. After all, he was a Slytherin, and not the nicest one either. Ron had called her a big know it all for correcting his pronunciation on a spell earlier, and that's when she snapped at him, saying it was no wonder he had no friends.

Harry had assured her that she shouldn't feel bad about the like of Weasley, that there was 'something' special about her.

Now that she was actually staring at the troll in the boys bathroom, she was rather more at a loss at what exactly that 'something' was.

"Avada kedavra!" Harry shouted, making the other two students wince and duck for cover, although the troll throwing a sink might also have had something to do with that. His wand completely failed to do anything, which probably was for the best. If he had managed an unforgivable, Hermione told herself, he'd definitely be expelled, no matter his reasons.

He then attempted several more spells, presumably... dark, as she'd never heard of them.

"Harry, cut it out! What if you hit one of us instead?" Yeah, that was her concern. Actually, she was more worried he might set himself on fire. No first year could cast such powerful spells.

"I'll get closer so I can get a direct hit!" he shouted, and actually leaped on to the troll's back. If the situation hadn't been so serious, she might have sighed. Not what she meant! And, and... he just stuck his wand up the troll's nose.

"Fantastic work, Harry." she said sarcastically.

"Hey, fighting for my life here!" Ron yelled, crawling across the floor.

"Right, sorry." What could she do, what could she do? The club, the troll could lift it up and crush-

Her eyes lit up. Eureka! Lift up the club! "Wingardium leviosa!" she shouted.

And the day was saved. Sort of.

* * *

><p><strong>R.W<strong>

Normally, saving someone's life from a troll would have a funny way of making you friends.

"That was brilliant!"

Not this time.

"Of course, what did you expect?" Harry drawled.

"Oh, shut up you big git," Ron growled. "You didn't do anything."

"My word! What happened here!" Their transfiguration professor McGonagall shouted from the doorway, soon followed by Snape and Dumbledore coming in and checking the beast was fully unconscious. Snape limped the entire time.

"Stunned, not dead." Snape declared, eying it viciously. Then he looked towards Potter. "I should have known. Thought it would be funny, did you?"

"No sir," Potter said, unusually respectful.

"Please," Ron suddenly interrupted. "what happened is that Hermione, she heard me yell for help. She saved my life with a levitation charm, sir. Potter, he, uh, he just happened to be with her." He really didn't see any reason to lie. The true version, as far as he saw, wasn't something anyone would be punished for, right?

"As it were, you should have gone and told a teacher. Miss Granger, I'm very disappointed in you," Minerva scolded.

"But there wasn't any time!" Ron protested. "I was really about to die! It had the club above my head and everything when she came in!"

"It seems we have a hero on our hands. Five points from Gryffindor for disobeying your teachers. Twenty points to Gryffindor, for bravery and selflessness in the face of danger." Dumbledore smiled, eyes twinkling.

Potter and Snape simultaneously scowled. It was a little scary. "And ten to Slytherin, though as I understand it Harry here was not the one to save Ronald's life." Dumbledore amended.

Ron did the math, if a little slowly. So Gryffindor got five more. Hah! Served Potter right... for helping save him? Ugh. Okay, maybe that was a little biased of Dumbledore there. That thought made Ron pause for the first time in his life. Slytherin was suppose to lose, it was evil, but this time it had actually done something kind of nice. Well, a single member, anyway. Maybe the Boy-who-lived was the only okay one in the lot. Except he still didn't seem to like Ron at all, so likely Hermione had dragged him into it. Yeah, that made sense. He really owed Hermione a lot.

But the next day, when the choice came whether to go with Potter down the hall, or come talk to him, she chose to go study with Potter. A small, uncertain smile was thrown his way, and Ron smiled back.

But they didn't talk together, that day or the day after that.

Ron was still alone.

* * *

><p><strong>D.M<strong>

Draco was sulking. Potter's reputation had soared after he'd managed to get both on the Slytherin team as a reserve seeker (after swearing he despised the sport, no less! Though, Draco half suspected Snape had put him on just to spite the boy once he'd learned his dislike) and had worked alongside that ugly little mudblood to rescue what's-his-face, Weasel. Draco had almost been entirely forgotten, and Crabbe and Goyle were hardly any company. He doubted they could even read.

He'd been doing alright in class, and it was still entertaining to see Snape give Potter the hard treatment, even if he'd rarely dare to take away points from his own house. Lots of detentions were still possible, though, and Potter was actually slowly learning to control his mouth after months of stick and no carrot. Harry's new self control was just one of the many things that was making him suddenly popular to be around. He had a raw charisma (read: raw power) that attracted people to him and made them pay attention no matter what he did.

Draco loathed it. He really did.

Class had just completed. Spotting writing scribbled by another student tucked beneath a seat and hoping to find something incriminating, Draco bent down and read it. It was nearly illegible, yet what he saw startled him.

'_Potter sucks (:P) He's so full of himself!'_

Quietly, and peeking to make sure no one was watching... he wrote back.

.

.

* * *

><p><em>First Year, Post-Halloween<em>

* * *

><p><em>.<em>

**_RW_**

_._

_'Potter sucks (:P) He's so full of himself!' _Loopy, clumsy letters in black tinted brown.

_'__He is.__' _Neat, tidy scrawl, in expensive looking silvery gray ink. A second author, clearly different from the first.

'_Who are you?' _The loopy black returned.

_'__Call me Mephistopheles. Potter struts around quite a bit, doesn't he? He actually thought he owned the place at one point.'_

Ron had never, ever expected a reply. Heck, he'd only repicked the paper up on a whim when he noticed it had been tucked back slightly differently during class with the Ravenclaws. He still stared, wondering if he was dreaming. Maybe it was a prank. Should he give his real name back? No. The other hadn't; and this was kind of fun, having a secret friend, even if it was kind of frustrating. Hmm. He should probably wait until no one was watching to reply, he decided. If the writer was another Gryffindor or a Ravenclaw, then they'd know who he was.

_'Jack Faceless.' _Ronald decided to write back. It certainly felt true enough; he was just another guy in the crowd, and this person certainly wouldn't know what he looked like. As far as they were concerned, he really was faceless.

It felt awkward just leaving it there, and last time he'd been so anxious with just that to go on. So he scribbled a little more. '_It's wicked to meet you, Mephistopheles.' _He'd had to check the spelling on that several times. '_I don't know too many who share my opinion on Potter. He's kind of a right git if you do the smallest thing to offend him.' _After the rescue, many of the Gryffindors had declared Harry a-okay, and his constant insulting of Snape and Malfoy had helped put him in their good books as well. They saw Ron's dislike of him as kind of spiteful after what 'Harry had done for him.' They just didn't understand that even after all of that, Potter just continued to insult him. The green eyed wizard saw him as an incompetent git of a wizard who couldn't rescue himself. It was humiliating.

He left it there, and, unable to wait in his excitement, decided to check it a day later. It already had a reply, but it was a bit cryptic.

'_We should move this to a safer location. Anyone could read this.'_

Wetting his pen, he thought quietly. This kind of underhandedness wasn't really his forte, and it felt strangely to him. Yet, it faintly reminded him of chess. You didn't want your opponent to know what you were thinking, didn't want to be too obvious or you'd be checkmated. No one had ever asked or expected Ron to be clever before, except in games. His parents hadn't really had the time to devote to him to make sure he truly grasped concepts the way his elder siblings did, and when Ginny had been born she'd become the beloved baby in the family.

For the first time in a long time, a clever spark kindled in Ron Weasley, motivated by the challenge. He grinned and replied.

'_Better yet, we should find a spell.'_

_._

* * *

><p><strong>DM<strong>

_._

Draco was not entirely sure what to make of his secret companion, Jack Faceless. A rather morbid name, but definitely a male name, which was something to go on at least. If it was a Slytherin, they'd hid themselves well and made no signs they were aware of him. Checking class times and comparing when the notes had been replied to, he decided it was most likely a writer from the first year Gryffindor and Ravenclaw History class. That made it most likely a Ravenclaw, then, a thought only confirmed when he got his latest reply. A Gryffindor would have been too stupid, too bold to omit their true name and conduct covert conversation with a potential rival house member.

'_I've heard of two way mirrors that allow speech and images to be carried. A simplified modification of that or a simpler variety for paper should not be hard to find. I know most writing spells are banned in the classrooms to prevent cheating, and we aren't allowed to enchant quills. We'll have to be careful.__' _he penned in.

The reply no longer came after classes. So, whoever Jack Faceless was, he wasn't dumb. He'd decided to cover his tracks, though it was a little too late. Such an action really only made him more suspicious and certain that it was a first year Ravenclaw. Else, why change the time pattern?

It didn't occur to him his companion was simply eager.

It was with annoyance the next time he spotted Ron Weasley lurking there. The overgrown stupid weasel had gotten a rather puce like look on his face (hilarious) and skittered off. Malfoy had to double check the Gryffindor hadn't set any dung bombs, he'd looked so guilty.

No matter. He picked up the paper again after some minutes had passed, assured no one else was lurking.

'_I found a spell; I saw two older students exchanging moving doodles and asked. You write on the parchment and tap it with your wand with the target parchment in mind, and the target parchment will change. I'm going to learn to cast it. For now, move it by the statue of the One Eyed Witch. To get what's on it, utter Revealio.'_

Not bad.

'_What year are you? If it won't give too much away.' _He began to write.

.

* * *

><p><strong>RW<strong>

.

At first, Quirrel's class was pretty lame. But, no one could say precisely why or when, it started to get better, harder. It was then that Ron found himself in a giant maze where he had to use Flipendo to get to the end.

He and his mysterious companion Mephistopheles had turned their little covert communications into almost an art form. They'd honed the spells over a few weeks well enough they could now chatter during class (Well, some classes, they didn't dare in Charms, Potions or Transfiguration, aka the competent teachers as they liked to joke); and chatter they did once they'd realized they were both first years and therefore taking the exact same courses. Well, 'chatter' was a bit much. It was still writing, but now he could have it appear on the air or even water instead of just paper, although in practice they still needed the paper at least on their person because they needed a target item to key into. As well, he had another friend too. The groundskeeper Hagrid had turned out to be quite friendly, and Ron had visited him for tea. He'd found out Potter had received an invitation to go, but had turned Hagrid down.

'_Just got blasted by a bloody fire turtle. You?' _He carved red letters on to the air, and watched them disappear one by one.

_'__Nope, got passed it just fine. You have to flipendo them on to their shells.'_ Green appeared, shimmering but not too distracting. They were still working on spelling it so only they could see it, but that was upper-year work. Actually, all the spells they were using were upper-year level difficulty, but that especially so. They probably wouldn't manage it until they were fifth years at least. Although, so constantly practicing wand waving seemed to have created a definite improvement on their skills. Maybe fourth or third if one was being really optimistic.

_'Got it.'_

It was something of a mass examination, so he didn't worry much about being figured out. A lot of students were being tested right now. It was kind of strange, Quirrel had never done this beforehand. He couldn't shake the feeling it was connected to Potter, though. Quirrel had shown a lot of interest in the boy, asking him questions more often than any other student in the class. It was a little eerie.

Potter seemed to notice, but not do anything about it except press the teacher for more dangerous fare. He seemed to thrive on nearly getting blasted by fire turtles pretty well.

'_Ooh, score. Found a chocolate frog.' _He rolled out of the way of fire and spotted the thing bouncing behind a flowerpot.

_'__Careful, it could be cursed.'_

_'I guess you're right, Mephi.' _He was always so paranoid, but it paid off in Defense class.

_'Don't call me that, Jack.'  _The writing, jagged and sharp, almost seemed to hiss in displeasure. '_Uh oh.'_

_'What?' _he asked, wand swishing the letters on the air. He turned around the corner and immediately saw the problem.

A giant chasm with floating platforms, and switches that required flipendo to activate. An hourglass suggested it was charmed with a timer. Joy. '_Never mind, I think I see. Could try cheating with leviosa, you think?'_

_'Tried, platform is either too big or spelled not to budge so easily.'_

_'I'll test the right panel and you test the left.'_

_'Agreed, assuming we have the same setup.'_

He fired the flipendo spell, and was pleased to see the first platform moving side to side. '_Left to right movement on mine.'_

_'__Back and forward. Say, have you been thinking about that idea much? The group one?'_

He next hit the middle panel. The movement stopped. He stepped on to the now still platform carefully. '_Middle seems to cause a reset. And no, haven't.'_

_'Noted. Left then right causes it to go up and down.' _Noted? Who said that, really? Well, Mephistopheles did apparently.

He tried right then left. '_Opposite makes second platform move across.' _Alright. He could theoretically get across now, he just needed to try different timings. After a few attempts, he was on the third platform. Pretty swell! They had to be making good time.

Exiting the chasm room, he found himself in a puzzle room full of blocks, and clambered and blasted his way through there. He didn't much enjoy that one as much, but he hadn't done badly and even helped Mephistopheles get unstuck at one part. Ron wasn't stupid, no matter what others liked to think about him. Maybe a little dim sometimes, but, not stupid. Sometimes he felt a little pain of conscious scream at him for what was probably a kind of cheating, nobody else partnered with a student like he had, but then again Quirrel hadn't been paying the two of them much attention. It was Potter that was getting personally watched.

In hindsight, maybe they should have known what was coming.

'_I think it's wicked, personally. A secret society.'_

_'Honestly, I said that as a joke. You know, that we were kind of like the secretest society ever! You know the saying? One person to make a secret, two to keep it, three to make it not a secret anymore.'_

_'__I'm aware, Faceless; and secretest still isn't a word. Honestly, you think I have no face and didn't see my own words?'__ Very funny, _ Ron thought sarcastically. Then again, they often exchanged tasteless jokes like this, and his earlier hadn't been any better. _'But I think we should have a secretest society. One devoted to the exchange and keeping of secrets.'_

_'And here you said Secretest wasn't a word.'_

_'__Shut up!'_

He exited the puzzle room and opened the door to a new one, only to get immediately blasted on the arm by a fire turtle. "Yowch!" he toppled backward, then stared in horror at his hand.

It was dripping with blood, and actually burnt.

'_MEPHI! Be careful, these fire turtles haven't been safety charmed! One just blasted me as I exited the puzzle room and I am bleeding!'_

_'__What?'_

_'You heard me!' _Ron wrote with his good remaining hand, still wincing in pain. '_I think we have to assume none of these things are charmed safely!'_

_'__That is insane, the teacher would not try to kill us. Especially not precious Potter. Fire turtles are not all that dangerous anyway.'_

_'They are if they knock you into a chasm. Maybe it wasn't the teacher. Or maybe Potter is exactly the point. Maybe they are trying to kill him.'_

_'__I think you are over-reacting.'_

_'Am I?' _Ron genuinely wondered for a moment if he was simply being paranoid. But no one could deny weird things had been going on, and Potter certainly was annoying enough for someone to try to kill the bloke. He dodged another blast and leaped over a giant slug that charged at him – not especially quickly, being a slug, but still fast and heavy enough to be obnoxious when it tried to knock you over. He nearly slipped on its goo as he dashed toward his last challenge star and the end point; he'd already collected the two others he needed to complete the challenge. He levitated a block to let him reach the star (he supposed he could have pushed it, but that would have cost him points) and watched it wink out.

The door didn't open like it should.

Ron frowned, then noticed he had another message in the air from his unknown pen pal.

'_Is there more to the test? The door will not open. I have tried Alohamora, before you ask. Mayhaps mine is jammed, or we missed a star?'_

Then came an eerie yell of pain, a scream from the next challenge maze over, startling Ron. '_Did you hear that? Someone screamed!'_

_'__Bloody hell. Maybe you were right.'_

That settled it. '_I am going to try to get through, talk to you later.'_

He 'muted' his companion's spell to only appear on the paper in his pocket. Ron took a deep breath, and attempted to levitate the large block again, the feat straining his magical muscles to all their might as he did so, and launched it at the door. With a slam, it bashed it open wide, and Ron charged through to the class room. There were all the students not currently taking the test, either because it was not their turn or because they had finished already.

"Congratulations, you're the first one through!" Dean said to him.

"Enough about that now! Something's wrong with the test, and I heard someone yell! It sounded like Harry! Where's the teacher?"

"Quirrel? I imagine he's watching over the test... nothing could be wrong surely, with him watching. I mean, I got through just fine," said Granger.

"Your test was before Potter's, though, wasn't it?"

"Well, yes, I suppose. And there was the strange incident in Quidditch – oh Merlin, you're right! We have to grab a teacher!"

"No time. Which door leads to Potter's test?"

"That one!"

Ron thought of bashing that door open too, before thinking better of it and simply levitating it out of the hinges and using it as a shield against a pair of pixies that came flying out at him. The other students screeched as they came into the classroom, until Hermione froze them in the air. Ron gave her a thankful smile - he had been learning some manners, of late – and charged in.

He came just in time to see a green light speeding toward a trapped under a pillar Harry, and he threw the levitated door against the spell, watching it shatter into a thousand nasty splinters. In the corridor above them, a shadowy, almost invisible figure darted away through a door.

Not a minute later, Quirrel appeared from the side, a secret door opening up in the wall, panting. He levitated the pillar off Harry, who had a broken or at least twisted ankle. "Oh m-my goodness, what happened here! I c-came as fast as I could."

"Someone attacked Harry, Professor!"

"Did they?" A strange gleam entered the Professor's eye, perhaps a fearful one. "Th-they must be quite powerful to get past the enchantments. P-please send Mr. Potter to the Hospital Wing to see Madam Pomfrey right away."

"This isn't the first class Harry has been attacked in!" Neville said abruptly. "What's going on?"

"Yes, what?" cut in the sharp, deep voice of Professor Snape, wand held high and looking in no mood for funny business. For once, and Ron never thought he would say this, he was actually happy to see Professor Snape.

"It s-seems Ron has r-repaid Mr. Potter for his Troll rescue. Someone charmed the lesson task against him."

"And outright attacked him!" Ron shouted, angry and honestly quite scared that this should occur in such a supposedly safe place as Hogwarts. For a moment, he had really been afraid he'd have to duel a full grown wizard, but he supposed the other had been frightened off by the thought Ron might have gotten reinforcements with him waiting just out of sight.

"Someone," Snape repeated, staring at him with undisguised suspicion. "Where were you, Quirrel?"

"W-watching over another student at the time. I cannot w-watch them a-ll-ll at once you s-see."

Snape did not seem terribly convinced. "Then you should not have created a task where children would run so dangerously unsupervised, Quirrel."

"It w-will no-not happen again."

"See that it does not. Class dismissed," Snape said, assuming what should have been Quirrel's authority over the classroom.

Ron, despite his rescue, got no extra points for Gryffindor. Not that he had really expected any, with the furious look on both Quirrel's and Snape's faces as they both parted. Hand still bleeding, not that anyone had taken notice, he happily went to the Hospital Wing.

.

* * *

><p><strong>S.S<strong>

.

"Headmaster Dumbledore," greeted Severus later, in the headmaster's office. "It's Quirrel, I'm sure of it; he's becoming more and more of a problem."

"I know. Watch over Harry. It will not be long until the trap is sprung."

"Watching over Quirrel might be more useful," Snape nearly snarled. Too many murder attempts, to one of his snakes, even if it was one he rather despised, this would not go unavenged. As well, this was Lily's child they were speaking about, and he was loyal to the last. Even if Dumbledore lied to Harry and told him it was for James and his rescue of him that Snape protected him, the meddling old coot.

Sometimes, he thought he really could kill Dumbledore.

But that was fairly ludicrous, and would never conspire to happen.

.

* * *

><p><em>First Year, Christmas<em>

* * *

><p><strong>D.M<strong>

.

'_I can't believe it. Merlin bloody Potter got an invisibility cloak. From the headmaster, I reckon. Bloody favoritism, I tell you.' _Draco pretended to write homework, hiding the parchment in his book. When he was done he'd taken to casting an erasing spell so no one found it and thought he'd gone bonkers talking to himself. Or worse, was some kind of traitor to his house.

_'No kidding? And here I just got a sweater!' _Draco wondered if Headless Jack was simply being sarcastic, or if the boy was for real. For not the first time, the uncomfortable realization plowed its way into Draco's brain that his ally- friend, he supposed, although he was a little wary of applying that to anyone he didn't know the real name of- might be of quite lesser station than him. Maybe even a mudblood! Certainly, there were a few in Ravenclaw.

'_Faceless, you weren't... raised by muggles, were you?'_

_'That's none of your business, Mephistopheles! My family just doesn't like to give expensive gifts. Have you got something against muggleborns?'_

_'I think they don't belong here. Not like we do, you know. They don't know what it's like, they're strangers to it. And they'll always be strangers.'_

_'__That's a load of swash and you know it. Who told you that? How many muggleborns have you met to form that opinion?' _None, he hadn't needed to. Wasn't it obvious? Somehow, he needed to sway their opinion. They could only be pureblood, otherwise they would have spoken out even more strongly or revealed themselves, having no reason to hide it since it wouldn't give their identity away. Right?

_'__My father. And I've never met a muggleborn I liked.'_ For a moment, he feared the other would never respond again, that he'd made them truly angry. The way they acted, maybe they really were muggleborn. As strange as it was, he'd really enjoyed whispering so to speak to Faceless. His relationship with the other Slytherins had never really entirely repaired itself, as well.

'_Goodbye.'_

_'__No! Wait, I'm sorry. I haven't met many.' _He hated to make the admission, but, no one would ever know that Malfoy himself had said it. Still, he'd never imagined being tolerant towards the slightest sympathy even in private. The mere thought felt strange. But in private, maybe he didn't have to say everything in a way that his father approved of.

_'Granger's proof Muggleborns can learn magic just as good as purebloods, even if you don't like her. She's top of class.' _A fact Draco loathed. His father had never fully stopped harassing him for doing more poorly in grades than one of his lessers.

_'Have you got a crush on her? This isn't the first time you've defended that little library of Potter's.' _Or worse, Faceless Jack was Granger. But somehow, he couldn't imagine Granger coming up with such a morbid, and male, name.

_'No! That's ridiculous. Listen, can you do me a favor?'_

_'__Oh, so we're back on good terms again?' _Despite himself, he was intrigued to think what the favor might be._ And maybe a little relieved to be off the topic of blood purity, _he thought, though would never admit out loud.

'_Were we ever on bad? I don't remember.' _Came the sly reply, rapidly. If there was one major benefit to all of this, it was that it had improved their handwriting skills immensely. And he seemed to be teaching Jack more Slytherin behavior, as only a few months ago he never would have done this. '_I want you to help me nick Potter's invisibility cloak. Just for a night.'_

Draco gaped, then remembered to school his expression flat, knowing Blaise Zabini was also 'studying' in the Common Room. His eyes briefly flicked to check if the other had noticed. Hadn't, or had the discretion not to show it, good. '_Are you kidding me? And I never said I was in Slytherin!'_

_'That's a strangely suspicious denial, don't you think? I never said you were; I just know you must know a Slytherin or be one to know about the cloak. So that means you might be able to help me get in.' _Bloody hells. He had given that away, hadn't he? He had known he'd regret trying to teach Jack subtlety. The other boy hadn't any of it in the slightest when they'd started, and had revealed to him that yes, he'd been casting the writing spells to parchment in plain view of others, why do you ask, way back in the beginning. Since then Draco had taught the other to control their expression and pay attention to what they were unconsciously giving away to others. While he did like the idea of figuring out the unknown boy's secret before they did him, he didn't like to think anyone else could figure it out first, or to have it be so damn easy. Jack knowing he was a Slytherin first year didn't mean much, though. Draco already knew the other was probably a Ravenclaw first year, after all, and had known it for awhile.

If they'd been another house, they would have probably screamed about him being a slimy evil Slytherin by now.

'_Agreed, but this won't be an unreciprocated favor. You must do something in exchange for me helping you get into Slytherin in the first place, and burrowing Potter's cloak is extra. He and I are hardly buds, and if I'm caught stealing it we could be expelled.' _It occurred to him his mystery pen pal might agree to his help of getting into Slytherin and its price and not the price for helping burrowing the cloak afterward. After all, he realized with growing excitement, might that not require meeting face to face?

'_For the first, how about letting you know how to get into my Common Room? If we're a society of secrets, we should try to learn as many secrets as we can, right? For the second-' _He could hardly believe it, even as the words appeared one by one. Jack was really agreeing to it. '_how about I tell you what I'm using it for?'_

_'__Done.' _He almost slashed the pen straight across the page in cursive.

'_Know any color changing charms?' _Huh? What did that have to do with anything?

'_Of course.'_That was beginning charms stuff! He knew the same spells Jack did!

'_Find something you can use as a mask. You'll know me by my name. The Secret Society? It's time for it to live on.'_

_Yes! _Draco couldn't help grin, not caring if Zabini saw him this time. A part of him couldn't help but be a little disappointed they wouldn't actually meet face to face, the rest delighted to the core that the game would go on. That it was evolving, even, into something grander and bigger. If they were to be a secret society, they needed a name. They needed members. And Jack and Mephistopheles would of course, be the leaders.

Already his mind churned over who to approach and how, where they could meet, if they would all learn the Nitor spell or if that would just be the inner trusted ring, if any outsiders would be allowed to know, what the group would do...

This was turning out to be so entertaining, for what had just been a moment of whimsy picking up a cruddy wrinkled up paper someone had thrown away. And he had never imagined he would become so bold and fearless when egged on to do so by Jack. This recklessness was practically Gryffindor.

He shuddered.

.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

**RW**

.

Ron spelled his famous Weasley hair black.

For over a week, he practiced his transfiguration, turning the cheap toy mask he'd once gotten as a kid into an eerie, nose-less and mouth-less version of itself devoid of hue. He'd asked his parents to send it as well as a few other of his things here with the excuse he was getting homesick. He wasn't sure when he had gotten so underhanded, so sly, but he supposed it had something to do with his friendship with a Slytherin.

When he'd come to Hogwarts, he never could have imagined such a thing. Yet, now he couldn't imagine life without it. Ron had been horrified when he had started to suspect, when the little references started to pile up 'Pansy is stuffing her face again, isn't she so ugly?' 'Longbottom is such a clutz.' usually rather insulting.

The most annoying had been, of course, himself getting insulted; he suspected if they ever truly met face to face, it wouldn't end well because of that. 'Weasel'. Only Slytherins had ever called him that.

Mephistopheles had no idea of course, that he'd ever insulted him, but he had told him to tone it down regarding Gryffindors and that he had a few friends there. That was something of a lie, sadly. Sure, Fred and George were funny, but he wasn't really close friends with anybody here, although Lee was funny and Dean was nice. He'd started to be friends with Longbottom, but then an all too familiar thing happened. Potter had started showing an interest in him, specifically his Herbology, and reportedly he and Granger had actually sneaked out of the Common Room once to meet up with him despite normally being sticklers for the rules. After that, Ron wasn't in a mood to make overtures, and Longbottom didn't make an effort himself to become better friends.

Creeping through the halls and nearly bumping into Filch on occasion, he started to have second thoughts. Sure, the dragon couldn't stay at Hagrid's hut, but should he really be doing this? He was no Charlie Weasley- and Charlie was the one he really should have contacted about this. Hagrid was no good at keeping secrets either, although he did assure that he was 'immune to Legilmency' whatever that meant. He only knew a bit of how to handle a dragon and not nearly enough for this... even if it would make a damn awesome pet and secret guardian. He'd picked up a lot about dragons from Charlie, though; having older brothers wasn't totally useless. He'd recognized the hatchling as a female dragon for it. Obviously, having such a dangerous hazard to the students in the school wasn't a problem, because Dumbledore had no problems declaring an entire floor certain death.

But on to what he was doing currently.

He'd found several secret rooms, but had to make sure Filch and other students didn't access them. His favorite, by far, was the many-years abandoned and forgotten Founder's Tower. He'd learned of it by trading some Wizard Trading Cards with a Ravenclaw for the information. Getting in was a bit of a hassle; you had to have a key.

Said key had been lost for decades.

Keys could be reproduced. Lock-picks could be used. Or, bits of doors could be removed, if you were confident about not being disturbed, although this door was spelled not to open easily so it likely had protections against damage as well. Just about no one came this way, though.

One didn't be a sibling of the Twins without learning a thing or two about breaking and entering. He thought about using a bit of gum, or better yet clay and get it out with a levitation charm if it got stuck, then using it a mold for a key, but then realized quickly that likely wouldn't work.

There were different kinds of locks. Pin and tumbler locks worked by having little pins, of different sizes, inside that needed the different shapes of the key to press up and down to the proper lengths so the pins all rested below the shear line or entirely within the 'key housing', if that made sense. Then there were wafer-tumbler locks, which, if he remembered correctly, were pretty similar, just with 'wafers' instead of pins. Those were supposed to be easier to pick, unless they were double wafers or built to wobble around if you didn't insert it just the right way. Last were tabular locks which had pins all the way around, but he really doubted this was that sort of lock. If it was, though, he imagined he'd never be able to pick it.

He wasn't even really sure what kind of lock this was.

But that was alright, because he wasn't planning on picking the lock.

He was going to make a new key. He just wished his transfiguration skills were a little better. Although, speaking of that, perhaps it was best to test if he could just open it with magic. Not Alohamora, he'd tried that already, but physically transfiguring the door handle and lock into something else. It didn't have to be anything pretty or useable, just with a gap so he could reach through with his hand to the other side.

The spell Flintifors, which had been taught to them already and was no more advanced than turning a matchstick into a needle, and was in fact a reverse of the spell, might work nicely here. He'd turn it into a match-box, and then just push it out.

"Flintifors!"

No luck. Alright, plan two. He took out a blank key he'd transfigured, stuck it in, turned it until it got scuffed up with marks, took it out, made note of where the marks were, and transfigured points there. Then he stuck it in again, tested the new shape and listened and felt carefully for pins moving, took it out, looked at where it was failing, re-adjusted the shape, and stuck it back in.

After an hour, because he really was quite a novice at this, success! The door swung wide open. Now Mephistopheles just needed to hold up on his end of the deal and get him the cloak.

_'Status?' _He signed and tapped to send the message.

No answer, for a bit, and then, words seemed to float to the surface of the paper.

'Not now. Busy.'

Fair enough. He pocketed the paper, and went on his way, exploring the tower. It had multiple rooms, some old abandoned paintings that even the original pictures didn't visit the frames of anymore, old bookshelves that were horribly dusty. There was a horrible, cold draft. It seemed like not even house elves visited here, which was really just perfect. This was to be a secret from everyone. It would take some time to make cozy, but it would definitely be worth it, to have an entire tower to themselves. If they really were going to have a secret club. And maybe even a dragon, although it was probably better to put that out in the forest, with some precautions to keep it from burning everything down. That way one could claim it was wild or something if it was found.

He ascended the central stairs and looked out the window to the grounds below, and noticing an entire unused area filled with stone checked it for a second hidden room. Knocking gave a hollow sound. Bingo. He used Alohamora and climbed into the wall under the stairs, and found a nice potential storage space or maybe even more secure hangout.

This really was perfect.

.

* * *

><p><strong>D.M<strong>

.

Draco mentally swore to himself. Trust Potter to booby-trap his stuff. Good thing he'd thought to Silencio the area first, and that Potter was only a first year. That stinging curse really hurt, and the squeaking creaking and meowing noises his dragonhide boots were making (or trying to make, when not silenced) was a dead giveaway to who the perpetrator had been in stealing his stuff. The color change of his black robes to purple and pink polkadots and the bright red letters SNEAK had been annoying too, but easily reversed with his own color changing charm.

Still, he had the cloak, and Potter was off at Quidditch practice. He had plenty of time.

But first he had to sneak out of the common room with it and meet up with Jack Faceless at their meeting point, or, failing that, their second backup meeting point. The faint vibration of the paper in his pocket urged him on, and he spent just enough time to sign it '_Not now. Busy_'.

Jack was silent after that, or, well, not verbose, so he knew he got the message. Draco swung the cloak over himself and headed out. He almost walked into Theodore Nott, who frowned and looked about for a source for the breeze he'd just felt, and waited by the door an agonizingly long time waiting for someone to open it without falling under suspicion. If it took too much time, he'd have to abandon the mission today and put the cloak back before Potter could come back from Quidditch practice.

Hmm. Maybe he should have asked Crabbe and Goyle, but, somehow he didn't want them to know of his little secret. Jack was his little mystery to know about, his to befriend, and he worried they might report to his father if Jack turned out to be a bad influence.

Which Jack kind of was, really. _Stupid Muggle Lover._

Just as he was getting antsy, the entrance to the Commons opened. He rushed out, trying to avoid brushing by Pansy but also trying to get out before the door closed on him.

_'I am out! Heading to Meet Point One.' _He signed with his wand on the air and sent it, letters their characteristic green.

_At last, I'm going to see Jack. Well, sort of. A masked Jack, maybe illusioned a bit to change his appearance even further. _With that thought, he changed his hair color to a boring brown. He took a moment to check the time. Still plenty, good. It was weird to be sneaking around in the middle of the day, and rather troublesome, but he simply could not have done it while Potter was sleeping in his own bed. The boy who lived would have hexed him; he had ears like an owl and Draco could not do a nonverbal silencio yet.

He double checked for teachers, then ducked into the unused classroom, opening the door. He had a glimpse of a boy his own age and size, before he finished closing the door behind him and could gaze upon the fellow fully.

Nondescript robes – well, of course his counterpart would not have left their house badge upon it – and a strange white mask, with only black dots and lines for eyes and no ears but a smiling eerie mouth. Their hair was black, as near as he could tell and likely charmed, but the strange boy had gone a step further and turned his skin stark white around the face and neck as well so it seemed entirely mask. His hands were gloved in black. The whole thing faintly reminded him of a chess piece.

For a moment, he wondered which of them would be the first to break the silence as he presented the cloak. Maybe even they'd continue to 'talk' entirely with text upon the air in a creepy silence. It occurred to him that he had no reason to trust Jack, to think he'd ever get the cloak back, but he found himself not really caring if Potter permanently lost his cloak.

He knew no charms to change his voice, not yet. But he could try to soften it. He had to admit it was rather distinctive, that Malfoy voice, but at least some of that had to be the Malfoy, err, superiority that dripped down from every word.

"Is it to your satisfaction?" he said, almost a whisper, as Jack's hand disappeared under the invisibility cloak.

Jack tilted his head, and nodded. Still not speaking, apparently. Faceless Jack was Voiceless Jack too it seemed. Perhaps their voice was even more distinctive than his was, maybe with a highly recognizable accent? Or, more amusingly, maybe it was embarrassingly squeaky.

Tracing out letters upon the air, Jack 'spoke':_ 'Wicked. So, I will tell you the way into my common room, although I do not think it'll do you much good mate; you'll surely be noticed as uninvited, or, bugger it, if you wore a mask looked at strangely and thrown out even faster.'_

"Not if I had the cloak on, or, in later years, polyjuice. In fact, I think I'll have you wait on telling me how to get in." It was risky to delay getting the favor like that, since only now did he have the cloak on him and the ability to make demands. "But time is of the essence, it won't be long before its absence is noted. You simply must tell me what you are using it for, later."

Jack nodded quietly and took the cloak, throwing it around himself and vanishing.

And that was the last he saw of him that day.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

**N.L**

Neville was worried. So was Hermione. He hadn't really wanted to get swept up in it all really, but somehow he had, as he couldn't just do nothing. He knew he wasn't very brave, but there was just something terribly wrong about it all if he just left it be.

The incident at Quidditch, the strange secret tunnel in the dungeons that had never been there before, the Troll, the herbology mistake with the man eating plant placed in the wrong garden plot, the accident in the Dark Arts lesson where the test maze had been charmed with the safety precautions off and was genuinely potentially lethal and the man who had thrown spells to collapse a pillar while Potter was running through...

Someone was trying to murder Harry Potter.

Only, Harry was oddly hard to convince of being concerned about it. Or, well, throwing his anger at appropriate targets. Something was really wrong with the boy, and Neville, perhaps because of his parents, wished only that he could somehow fix it. He didn't like seeing someone messed up in the head, not if he could help it at all. They walked together now in the halls.

"Of course someone is trying to kill me! I bet Dumbledore is after me for refusing to be his pawn."

"What in the name of Merlin? How would Dumbledore benefit from having a student die in his school? Wouldn't it be easier for him to kill you when you've left school and it wouldn't be blamed on him?"

"You do have a point," Harry said slowly. "Perhaps an ally of his, then, grown impatient."

"God, err, Merlin no, Harry," Hermione said, who had not spent quite enough time in the wizarding world yet to pick up their swearing habits. "Our teachers are here to protect us. And for the last time, he isn't evil."

"That is what he wants you to think. I feel sorry for you; perhaps he's sent you here to be his unwitting pawns, or spy on me, being Gryffindors and all."

Hermione frowned. "You approached me, remember? Not the other way around?"

In the face of this basic logic, Harry seemed a bit stymied. "Perhaps it is a servant of the Dark Lord, then. No matter, they will rue the day they crossed my power."

Neville held Trevor closely. For a toad, Trevor wasn't too bad. He was a little slimy, but all toads were like that, it wasn't his fault. "What power, Harry? You're a first year."

"That may be true now, but it will change."

Harry was really scary, sometimes.

"I w-won't let you bully people, Harry," Neville said, trying and failing not to stutter. Already he found his spirit crumbling at the prospect of trying to standing up to him. He felt better when Hermione stood at his side.

"We'll face the dark. Not for power, but because it's the right thing to do."

Harry laughed. "You amuse me. But let's focus on the important things, like finding out more about the secrets of the third floor. They have to be connected."

Neville was a little dubious about that, and thought perhaps Harry just wanted to get up to mischief. Besides, didn't he hear? "That floor is certain death, Harry."

"And I've escaped death once already."

"Well, we know the mirror probably got moved down there. We don't know what's being guarded, but, it must be small, magical, and valuable. Something your attacker wants. Could be anything, really."

"We could probably bribe the Cerberus with food. I heard they like that," Neville offered. "Wait, on second thought, let's just tell a teacher."

"We can't, one of them is out to kill me, and the rest are in league with Dumbledore."

Neville really didn't understand Harry's obsession with Dumbledore bashing. "Um, well, Dumbledore doesn't want you dead, remember? You know what, I think I'll tell on you myself."

"You wouldn't dare," Harry rose to his full and actually really rather pathetic height, glaring and threatening him with a raised wand. "Do this and our friendship is done with forever."

"What friendship?" Neville said dubiously, and with dawning realization. "You just use me to get what you want, like Herbology tips, and to have someone you can snipe about Snape with. Hermione, why are we spending time with this jerk? When has he done anything for us that shows he cares? He just wants your study abilities."

Hermione seemed to seriously consider this, with a saddened expression. Neville knew she didn't want to lose her first 'friend', but, Harry had been a cold friend to get along with.

"You dare? What about the gifts I bought you with my money?"

"That's... admittedly nice, yes, but, there is more to friendship than gifts of nice stuff." Neville felt bribed, really.

For a moment, Neville regretted his words, because Harry looked truly hurt. Hermione spoke up for him. "I, look, I'm sorry Harry, I know that was a bit harsh, but you can't just make ultimatums like that. You don't even stand up for us against other Slytherins."

"I have to maintain my reputation," Harry pleaded. "I had to let her be called a mudblood. But don't you see what a mutually beneficial deal with is? You teach me, I teach you?"

Hermione shot him a loathsome, but also quite confused look like she didn't quite recognize the term used. "You what?"

"I think we're done here, Harry," Neville said softly, gathering his courage again, and turned his back on him. "C'mon."

Hermione happily went alongside him, and for the first time, Neville kind of felt like a true Gryffindor. Surely without their help, Harry wouldn't go looking for trouble now.

.

* * *

><p><strong>R.W<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>.<strong>

Ron and Mephisto easily figured out what was the secret on the third floor. Ron had been talking to Hagrid, and he'd always been a big Wizarding Card fan, as apparently so was Mephistopheles. Fluffy was guarding something that granted life to someone who was so desperate they'd steal life from a unicorn; it had to be the Philosopher's Stone.

Of course, this was all merely intellectual. As cool as they thought it would be to get it, they had other plans.

Ron held Noberta, testing if he could really do this. She tried to bite him, and he gave a firm 'bite' with his hand at the back of her neck like a mother dragon would. She hissed.

"No, Noberta, no. Behave yourself. Let me slip this on you." He let go off her with one hand, very cautiously, and held up an anti-flame collar device that would render her flame harmless but allow her to still eat. She eyed him like she was thinking of biting, opening her mouth threateningly, and this time he took a candle and blew mock flame breath on her.

She sputtered her own little flame, and submitted to his next 'bite'. He slipped the collar and leash over her, then draped the invisibility cloak over the both of them. The darkness of the cloak helped make her even more docile, and he considered getting a hood for her. They stepped out of the hut and headed into the forest.

He felt a little scared going into the Forbidden Forest, but, with the cloak hopefully nothing would sense them. He decided the forest was really the only place one could keep her, considering she would need open air to fly eventually and needed to be available to Hagrid to feed. Perhaps it would have been best and safest to give her to Charlie, but, hey, what was the fun in that? He had always wanted his own dragon, and as long as the forest did not get too dry or the anti-flame charm stayed on her she would cause little trouble in it.

When he passed by silvery goo and nearly stepped in some, he seriously considered going back. It had to be the blood from one of Hagrid's dead unicorns.

With a shudder, he kept to the path Hagrid had marked out for him, and arrived at an open grassy circle surrounded by mushrooms. There was a small shed, and Hagrid beamed proudly at it. "Y'here yet, Ronald?"

"I'm here!" he flung off the cloak, and handed the young dragon to Hagrid. "She'll be safe out here. Just remember to adjust the leash on her as she grows so she doesn't choke. Use the handling methods I showed you."

"I can't thank you enough! I've always dreamed o' this," Hagrid said, sounding and looking like he was going to cry. "Now it's finally happen, a dragon of me very own."

"No problem, Hagrid. Just... if she gets too much to handle, owl me and I'll give it a try, or if worst comes to worst I will get my brother Charlie to fetch her, okay?"

"I will take the very best care of her, I promise! There'll be no need to take her from me!"

"If you say so. Be sure to try and get an official handling and research license for dangerous creatures if you can. Goodbye Hagrid." He put the cloak around himself again and sneaked away, although the chances of being spotted entering and leaving the forest were low he didn't want to risk it.

_'Success,'_

_'At what?'_

_'You won't believe me. Dragon smuggling.'_

_'No way!'_

_'Told you you wouldn't believe me! Meet me back at the unused classroom.'_

They exchanged messages and met back, where he a little reluctantly gave back the stolen cloak. There was almost no time to spare, so Mephistopheles immediately rushed back to his common room to stash it back in its original trunk.

"Next time, meet up with me at the old Founder's Tower. I made a way in," Ron spoke, his parting words. He'd managed to find a voice altering spell this time, so he was less worried about his voice giving him away. Mephi nodded, and slipped away. Their plans were really starting to pick up.

But that wasn't the biggest thing to happen that week.

Big news came to the school the very next day, it was a shock to everyone, except maybe the arrogant prat himself.

Harry Potter and Voldemort, it was said, dueled.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

* * *

><p>.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>H.P<strong>

**.**

* * *

><p><strong>.<strong>

"Ssoo, Harry Potterrrr, will you join me, and givvve me the sssstone?"

"Yes." He ignored the burning pain in his forehead. This was worth it.

Harry reached down to his pocket, and tossed the stone to Voldemort, or Quirrel as it happened to be. He hadn't really been very interested in using the stone, nor did he really care much about giving it to the Dark Lord, which was why he supposed the stupid mirror revealed it to him, mistaking his lack of desire for it as worthiness, as Gryffindor selflessness. In truth he was apathetic and just didn't care.

In that moment, strangely, Quirrel screamed as Voldemort seemed to... laugh and drop his body behind? The corpse of Quirrel fell to the floor, eyes dead, a newly made, or remade, man standing above him proudly. Whimsically, Harry thought the man looked faintly like an older version of himself sans scar or green eyes.

"I think this will be quite fun, don't you?"

"Yesss, how the world will cry to sssee their savior corrupt as darkesst sssin. Ssoon they will sssee there isss no hope to sssave them." He peered down at Harry. "I am a mossst forgiving lord, Harry. I will forget the insssult you paid to me asss a youth; I will not forget the ssservice you have rendered me today."

"Before I could remember, my Lord," Harry bowed his head. "My deepest apologies. All I beg is that you teach me what this filthy school cannot."

"That I can do, Harry, but you are of no ussse to me until you learn thee bassicsss," his sibilant voice hissed. Then the Dark Lord flew off like a dark wraith, smashing a hole in the wall of the school as a display of his new found power and escaping into the night sky. But before he did, he cast one last spell at Potter.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

**A.D**

**.**

* * *

><p><strong>.<strong>

Albus Dumbledore was horrified when he discovered Quirrel's corpse and Harry unconscious on the floor.

He had never meant for Harry to be sorted into Slytherin, to potentially fall to the Dark, or for him to find his way through the Third Floor. That had been intended as a trap for Voldemort, who wouldn't have questioned why the spells and challenges were a little too easy in his arrogance and would have been lulled into a sense of security, staying at the mirror until Dumbledore had time to arrive and finish him off. There was simply no way for Voldemort and Quirrel on their own to get at the stone.

But Harry... it seemed he'd taken it for the Dark Lord, showing remarkable capabilities for a first year even if most of the traps had already been aggressively dealt with by Voldemort. Harry had done something even Snape had never suspected him capable of; he'd joined up with the murderer of his own parents, forsaken them in a heartbeat for power.

Fawkes trilled a sad song.

No... it truly had not gone his way at all.

_(End of First Year.)_


	2. Summer Break

**All The Spares**

**Pairings:** None planned, they are children.

**Warnings: **abuse, neglect.

_(Summer Break)_

_**Chapter 2, Prolabor: To Fall, To Slip**_

_**S.S**_

"The worst has come to pass. Voldemort is restored to power, possesses the stone, and though the boy lied about it, I saw in his eyes Harry was the one to give it him. He has fallen from us."

"You were a fool, Dumbledore. You should have seen this coming the moment he started cavorting with purebloods and calling other students 'mudblood'," Severus snapped, patience quite gone. "We must take the boy to a safe location immediately. I do not like him, but I am willing to look after him. It is the least I can do for Lily, and I do not suppose anyone else would care for the brat."

The old man hung his head. "No, I need you as a spy, Severus, I cannot have you do that. And the dear boy has no love for you as well. Somehow we must win him back to our side, before Voldemort injures him permanently."

"Voldemort did not harm him before, well, not as much as he could have anyway," Severus stated dryly. "Let us be realistic, sending him to the Dursleys will do you no favors and will not make him like the Light any more for it, even if he does not run away immediately."

"Voldemort has no concept of mercy. If he has let the boy think himself an ally of his, it is only because it amuses him to watch us despair, and he thinks he has played a great trick on us, outsmarting us all in our own domain." Dumbledore stated heavily. _Outsmarted you, you mean, _Snape thought, having wanted to simply strangle Quirrel in his sleep from the beginning. Then perhaps they would not be in this mess. Complicated schemes were not always the best ones, even to a Slytherin. "Make no mistake. The boy is only alive because Voldemort has not yet figured out how to get past his mother's protection. If Harry Potter trusts Voldemort past the point the wards run out, Voldemort_ will_ kill him."

Snape took in a sharp breath and expelled it slowly. The logic of that was quite sound, and he could not argue with it. "So the dreadful muggles are a necessity, then. We can't just lock the boy away and never let him out again where he might rejoin up with Voldemort? It would be foolish to let him back to Hogwarts and teach him the tricks he needs to kill us."

"No, Severus, that would be cruel. Then we would be guilty of the very abuse the boy accuses us of."

_No crueler than having him kill us all. But I suppose you would never forgive me, Lily, _he mentally sighed. "Very well, at least a guard for him, then."

"Of course. It is time to call the Order back together again. Perhaps I can find someone he will befriend who can turn him from this path."

Oh, what great bloody use the Order had been last time! How effective! How many of its goals had it failed at, again? How many had died for it? But there was no arguing with the Headmaster, not when he was truly determined at something, and truly they had to do something. It was not like the Ministry could be expected to be competent at anything. He supposed the Headmaster was thinking of the werewolf. He doubted the boy would bond with the man, not when he had turned his back on his family so absolutely.

_Lily, I am so sorry. This is all my fault. I should never have betrayed you so. I should never had trusted the Death Eaters. I dislike your boy, but even he does not deserve what the Dark Lord will do to him given the opportunity._

_._

* * *

><p><em><strong>H.P<strong>_

Harry was massively pleased with himself, even if he had to behave himself and not cast any spells if he wanted to go back to Hogwarts again. He had fooled the Headmaster into letting him stay at Hogwarts, even after what he'd done, and he had resurrected the Dark Lord to new glory. Voldemort couldn't forget what he'd done for him! It was to new heights of power he'd soon find himself. And maybe, he'd find a new family. He and Voldemort were a lot alike, after all, both destined for greatness, both Slytherins, both hated muggles. Soon enough, Voldemort would realize how horrible the Dursleys were and rescue him from them! He could be like his dark heir!

The big problem was, he didn't seem to be getting any mail.

Pouting out in the yard, not even managing to feel gleeful over terrorizing Dudley and getting a bit of revenge on the fat whale by convincing him he was going to curse him, he saw something really weird. Eyes were staring out at him from a flower bush.

"Err, hello?"

"Mr. Potter must not go back to Hogwarts. It isn't safe." A funny looking, squeaky, long eared and wrinkly creature walked out from the bush, wiggling a leaf off its nose that had fallen there and nearly sneezing. "The Dark Lord has returned!"

"Excuse me?" he said, but was not actually the slightest bit apologetic despite his words. "I know that! The Dark Lord is no threat to me, I have no fear of him! Everyone knows I dueled him, do they not?"

"They say -" here the creature hesitated. "you gave the Stone to him. Dobby knows the whispers of the dark, Dobby knows you a liar, Mr. Potter."

"Goodness, could you get any more obnoxious, repeating your name like that over and over? Are you stupid or something? And yes, if you come from the dark, I suppose I do have... sympathies, with him."

"Then Dobby is very sorry for what Dobby is about to do," said the demented creature, spreading out its hands. Abruptly, Harry found himself flung back, smacking hard and well-bruising against the pavement. Dobby clicked his fingers together, and a kitchen knife sprung out of the air and flew at him.

The little wanker was planning to kill him! Harry gulped and went for his wand, only to see it yanked out of his hand.

"None of that, Dobby thinks. None of that at all." The knife missed him, and re-aimed itself, swerving in the air.

"Begone!" a voice yelled, and suddenly, Dobby looked very alarmed, body stiffing until it outright toppled over. The knife dropped to the ground harmlessly. Harry looked over to the road and saw a rather scruffy looking man with faint scars across his face heading toward him. Hurriedly, Harry grabbed his wand and picked himself up, readying to defend himself. "I am not here to hurt you. My name is Remus Lupin, I am an old friend of your parents."

"Loyal to Dumbledore," Harry snarled.

"No, loyal to them, first and foremost," Mr. Lupin said softly. "I am here to take you away. It's clear it isn't very safe here at the moment."

Unbidden, hope sprang into Harry's heart. He had always hoped someone would take him away, and this wizard was quite powerful, and, hopefully, no fan of Dumbledore's. But why hadn't he taken him away before now? "I don't believe you. Why now?"

"I... have a condition that means I would have difficulty taking care of small children, at least on certain days." Now that he thought of it, the man did look a little ill. "But you are older now, and things aren't safe. Please, come with me."

"Well," Harry tilted his head thoughtfully. "I shall get my things then. Anywhere must be better than here. And I want to make a shopping trip to get lots of important things, and check on my accounting. I am sure I have a secret mansion and bank account or something, my parents would not have left me with just a trust fund."

Lupin laughed at him, which Harry hated, though it was only a small chuckle. "A secret mansion! Well, believe me, I would know if they had any such things, although Lily always disliked such posh. You could say I was their very best friend. And what kind of important shopping?"

"I want to buy awesome items that aren't on the shopping list and stuff. Gold cauldrons and expanding trunks and fancy robes _and_ a new house elf _and_ maybe a back up wand and new pets _and_ new awesome books full of secrets like maybe a book only parseltongues can read and magics nobody wants me to be able to learn or expects me to because they don't know how_ clever_ I am." He finished, barely taking a breath the entire speech.

Lupin was a bit taken back. "Well, you certainly are rather imaginative. But very well, I suppose we could do that for your birthday. Although I don't know about a house elf. One just tried to kill you, after all."

"Oh, is that what that was?" Harry glanced at the pathetic worm on the ground dismissively. "I suppose we should interrogate it."

"Allow me to handle that, Harry. Why don't you grab your things, say goodbye, and I will take this to a location muggles are less likely to see and then come back to you when I'm ready?"

"Alright," said Harry cheerfully. New best birthday ever!

.

* * *

><p><em><strong>H.G<strong>_

Hermione was not quite sure what to think of all the rumors, flying around. A part of her couldn't believe Harry had really done it, something so awful. Another part of her who remembered the insults, his insufferable nature (really, he was more of a know it all than she was, and in a worse way; with opinions, rather than facts) and could believe it very easily of the Slytherin boy-who-lived, boy-who-lied.

She comforted herself to think she had a new best friend now, though she never would have predicted it. Neville Longbottom, one of the worst students with his bumbling nature, friends with one of the best. But Neville was very kind hearted, always humble, and very brave. She felt that if anyone fit the picture of hero, it was him, much more than Harry. He just needed to grow into it.

When she saw at Diagon Alley, comically, a man carrying around an immense number of items, levitating several more, and looking rather bedraggled, with an oblivious Harry Potter behind him carrying nothing, she quickly turned around and walked the other way, stifling a giggle and feeling rather sympathetic for the man.

So, they'd set a guard for him. That was intelligent, she knew Professor Dumbledore wouldn't do nothing. She only hoped it was enough. In the meantime, she resolved herself to study, and ready herself for potential attack, though such was incredibly scary for a mere student. Perhaps she and Neville could be dueling partners?

.

* * *

><p><strong>R.W<strong>

Ron was really worried. It wasn't just this You Know Who on the loose business, or that Dumbledore had fallen a bit into disgrace over putting a trap for him in a school and falling to properly spring it at that. Scabbers was missing!

He was not extremely fond of the rat, but he was still his pet, and Ron was rather upset. His mum, however, gave him what he had come to expect at this point. An expression of slight sympathy and a shrug. She would look for him, take a bit of time out of her busy day, but what could they do? The rat was old, maybe he had passed away? Accio Scabbers hadn't worked, he didn't seem to be in the house anymore. Maybe Ron had left him behind? At that thought, Ron had turned green, thinking of Scabbers slowly starving to death on the train or in the dormitories with nothing to eat, or wasting away from no water.

Molly scolded him to keep more careful track of his pets, "Honestly Ronald, I expected better of you. You're always so careless, perhaps this will teach you to be more careful."

Ron hung his head, unhappily. He wasn't the twins, she didn't need to scold him like that! But everything in this house was hand me down. Even her attention toward him was hand me down. Except for Ginny, of course, the reason the Weasley family, or mainly his mother really, had decided to bear so many children. She had badly wanted a girl, and would not stop until she had one. He couldn't blame her for that, or he wouldn't have been born even, but sometimes he pondered if maybe things would be better if he had never been born. They wouldn't be so poor then, if there were fewer children.

And he did not much expect a lot of sympathy from the Twins; they had been tormenting him endlessly. Nor his other siblings, who were always away on other things, though occasionally popped by to visit. The Twins did not really pick on their older brothers much, or their parents, as those were targets who could strike back. And they didn't dare pick on Ginny, mum's favorite, so that left Ron for their nasty pranks. It was far more fun to give than to receive, and Ron still had nightmares from some of the things they'd pulled on him. He couldn't count the times they'd nearly _killed_ him.

But he couldn't talk to his parents about it, because they just shook their heads and said, "The Twins mean well, Ron, they don't hate you! They love you deep down. And you know we don't approve of their mischief."

They didn't seem to understand that they didn't have to hate him to disrespect him, to hurt him. And they seemed to admire their cleverness, sometimes. Ron was the slow one in the family, the unpromising one. The thick moron.

_Well, my mind is morbid today, isn't it?_

_But it's true. People call me stupid and thick. _He wasn't always quite as quick at learning things as they others, he wasn't a curse breaking prodigy, great quidditch player or a master prankster or master dragon tamer, he'd gotten decent scores this year but nothing like Percy's had been at his age. And he couldn't help but feel every time other people who knew his family looked at him that they were expectant, that they were going, '_What's your talent, Ron? Haven't you got one?' _and that never, ever would he be able to live up to it.

He was quite envious, he supposed. He just wanted his mother and father to say they were proud of him as often as they did about the others, including Ginny, so he knew it wasn't just because he was young. Maybe there really was one too many a child in this family. One who could not even look after a damn rat proper like.

Malfoy's taunts came into his head, unwillingly. '_Red hair, red hair everywhere, I swear there's a plague of them. More children than they can afford, I worry about when their children start having children, we'll be infested!'_ _'Fancy Granger, do you? She's ugly but I cannot imagine anyone wanting to marry a thick moron like you! I shudder on her behalf.' _

The prick had ganged up on him, three to one, on occasion, and when Ron had called him out on his cowardice the great prick had just laughed and said it was cunning and underhanded to use what strengths you had, not that he would understand not having any, but he'd be willing to slug it out one on one if he wanted. Coward that he was, Malfoy hadn't actually shown up to the duel, and Ron had nearly got in trouble. He'd fumed for days. He couldn't really go to his brothers for help, and he hadn't many friends, so he was pretty much on his own.

It hurt even worse when Potter and other Slytherins decided to join in on the fun, though he and Draco didn't seem to like each other much so Potter usually just insulted him and left him alone after a pithy remark. Although, some of Potter's insults, like calling Ron a traitor, were downright bizarre. He could understand 'blood traitor', but plain old traitor? That implied he and Harry had been friends.

Would they even be letting Potter back to Hogwarts, he wondered? Seemed foolish to, but he supposed they might if the 'dueling Voldemort' story really was true. He kind of suspected the slimy Slytherin of just giving the Philosopher's Stone to him, but surely even Harry Potter wouldn't be that... he didn't even have the words for it.

Foolish. Cowardly. Traitorous. _Slytherin_. Any of those would do maybe.

He shook his head, then brightened. He did have one friend, sort of, even if they were kind of a slimy Slytherin themselves. Ron justified this to himself, saying they were only pen pals, and maybe this Slytherin wasn't quite so bad as the rest, and in any case he could be a good source of information sometimes. Maybe the other knew what the real story behind Harry Potter and the Stone was!

But would the spell even work at so far a distance? It seemed like it would be far more common, if such communications were so powerful.

'_Can you hear me?' _It occurred to him, after writing it, that such should have been 'can you read me', but, well, Ron was a little impulsive, or, err, very. And when everyone calls you daft and slow and stupid, there is not exactly a huge incentive to think things out first, especially if after thinking them out you still can't solve it, in which case you just offered yourself even more humiliation. Ron was very familiar with humiliation.

Although, his friend didn't know who Ron was, and even offered him encouragement to be cunning (not a Slytherin trap, he hoped, in any case if it was he would not let himself fall for it) so he did feel a little more restraint, a little more disappointment in himself for his impulsiveness. He'd stop himself next time, maybe.

No answer.

He tried again later than night, in case the other just hadn't noticed him, with even more magic poured into it, but it felt like pouring water into a full cup. Oh well. Maybe they could come up with a new method. Maybe he could key into the floo system somehow, or the magic that portkeys used, only to transport a message instead? But that would be advanced magic, too advanced for a second year; an entirely new invention that the magical world had never seen before might not even be achievable before seventh year.

It gave him an ambition to strive for, at least. And he was certain Mephistopheles would help Jack. Sometimes, well, okay, lots of times, he found himself liking his made up name and identity of Faceless Jack more than he did his real one. Mephi had once called Jack inventive. Inventive! No one ever called Ron inventive before.

And they had their own dragon. Well, maybe had, if Hagrid didn't accidentally let it loose or something. Ron would prove himself an equal to Charlie, given the chance, though dragons were huge and grew quickly, there were tricks to it. In fact, dragon farming was a huge industry, though they were rare in the wild and confined there to a few wilderness reserves. If they were really on the edge of extinction, no one would be selling dragon liver, dragon blood and dragon heart strings en mass so cheaply, and if they were really impossible to handle, no one would butcher them so frequently for their parts. They were a bit rather like fire breathing, spiked, poisonous chickens and turkeys, actually.

_What was that legil-mooncies Hagrid spoke of helping him keep secrets? Or, no, immune to it, he said. I should look into that. _He thought to himself.

From despair and mourning over Scabbers, to dreaming of the future, Ron went to bed, mind alight with plots. He eventually managed to go to sleep, eyes well adjusted to the night.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

It didn't feel like long, but soon a noise woke him up again. He hated waking up early, and groaned, trying to bury his head in his pillow. It slowly dawned in his brain that it was a kind of knocking, tapping sound against the glass, which had to mean...

There was an owl at his window!

Sitting up sharply, Ron went over to the pane, where indeed there was a great gray eagle owl awaiting him. He felt rather puzzled, for there was no address on it, unless you counted the green letters that spelled 'To a Friend' on the envelope.

"Are you Mephisto's bird?" he whispered, and the owl hooted, letting him take the letter but not without taking a peck at him. Nasty bird! It also looked a little familiar, but then, all owls of a species pretty much looked alike to him. Ron wasted no time opening it up.

'You know who I am. I am not sure if this reached you or not, or if it is safe to communicate, so reply as soon as you can.

I can't believe I didn't think of this beforehand, but then, I didn't really think it would work without your address. Mail Owls are magical creatures though, certainly normal owls don't even know what addresses are, so I thought I'd give it a try. Our usual communications method doesn't seem to extend this far; we'll have to think of something new maybe. If anyone can mail us with their owl, our secret identities won't stay secret long, will they?

I couldn't wait until the new year to talk to you. I don't know about you, but it's been miserable here. I can't really talk about it though.

In future, I will hide my message on the parchment and you can get it with Revealio; that should be more covert than this I should think!'

It was a bit troublesome that an owl could locate him just by the identifier of Jack Faceless. He hadn't realized he had come to think of himself that way so strongly. Something would have to be done about that, if they ever did reveal Jack and Mephistopheles to multiple people.

Abruptly, the letter was yanked out of his hands.

"Hey!" he shouted, turning and ready to hex whoever it was. Fred and George grinned obnoxiously down at him, holding it just out of reach.

"What's this? Ickle Ronniekins got a pen pal fwiend?" said Fred, probably.

"Yes, now give it back."

"And here I thought you were moaning about you hadn't any friends. Self pity isn't very appealing, you know," they said in unison, which made it even more annoying if possible. "Hmm, what's this? Secret identities? Does ickle Ronnie think he's Batmuggle?" Arthur's love of muggles extended to their comic books.

"No, I'm from Krypton, and if you don't give that back I'm going to blast you with my heat vision," said Ron sarcastically, jumping up and making a swipe at it, feeling a bit undignified in the process.

"Oh, alright. But don't think you can keep secrets from us!" He dropped it and Ron grabbed it, all too glad to see them go out of his room. Hungry and wanting breakfast, nonetheless he didn't immediately follow them, instead taking out parchment and quickly writing Mephisto the moment the twins had left. He was glad to see the owl hadn't left, patiently watching him.

'_Thanks for the message. Unfortunately it was intercepted by someone else I'm staying with, they remain clueless about what it meant but the Revealio trick won't do us any good. We'll need something more sophisticated; perhaps a new form of writing to each other altogether. In the meantime, maybe try sending your owl to only come to me late in the night? And we'll keep names out of it._

_I was thinking studying port keys and floo might help. My summer has been pretty dreadful too, mostly just family issues though. You can tell me what's bugging yours, if you like, it's not like I'm going to tell anyone. Maybe we should get this secure first, of course.'_

He finished, waited for it to dry a bit, and held it out for the owl's beak. "Here," he said. "Take this back."

* * *

><p><strong>D.M<strong>

Draco was worried, not that he'd admit it. He knew his father had not been such a big fan of the Dark Lord as to try and seek out what remnants there might be of him, and honestly had never been completely sure of what the man thought of him. There had been a time when he'd believed the Imperio story himself, actually.

But now the Dark Lord was back, and Lucius had disappeared off and on with little warning, the first time looking quite pale and alarmed and not at all as pleased as Draco had hoped. He said it was possible the Dark Lord himself might be visiting here at some point, so Draco had better be on his best manners if that occurred.

The thought terrified him, frankly, and he sought what little comfort he could in his little secrecy pen pal games, for there was a chance Jack might not live much longer, whoever he was, or that Draco would no longer have any opportunity to send such secret little fun messages.

It was with relief then that he got his owl back, and began to ferry back and forth a conversation. It would all be so much easier if they simply told each other who they were, but that would ruin all the fun out of it. Draco wanted to figure out who Jack was on his own with sheer cleverness, or maybe even never learn it at all if Jack was a mudblood.

'I hear the Patronus can send messages. We might be able to use that, although I'm not sure it would work without a clear idea of where and who we're sending it to, so I guess that could be out too.'

He paused in his writing, wondering if he should even suggest this, as the Death Eaters might call it flattering imitation at best and blasphemy to their lord at worst, but...

'We could use a magical mark of some kind, like a tattoo. I agree something like a port key but for messages would be best though. A modified magical portrait? Floo wouldn't work because no one knows how floo powder is made, it's controlled and monopolized by a single company, Floo Pow or something stupid like that. My fa'..._father, he almost wrote_. 'mily is surprised they do not hike the price up.

In any direction we go it would be difficult and require more magical knowledge and power than we have right now, but no reason not to start working on it.

My troubles are, you could say, family as well...' Here he paused, leaving a little splotch on the parchment. Did he dare? 'You know I am in Slytherin. You know what will be expected of me, one day. They say the Dark Lord is back, and I have had this confirmed for me. I will not spare any more details, not on such an insecure method of communication.

I wonder if I even dare pry and ask if we will be fighting on opposite sides. Very hopefully it will be years before either of us are expected to fight, so perhaps the war will be over by then.

Our friendship is based on fun, not beliefs, so perhaps we should not speak of them to each other. I fear it will not go well, though I beg you not to fight against Him. He has killed so many.'

It was as close to an admission of wrongdoing or guilt that Draco would ever make.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

**R.W**

Ron was less than pleased to be confronted with reality. There staring him in the face was pretty much a blunt admission that his pen pal companion might be a Death Eater one day, if not already a mini Death Eater in training. Had they already met Voldemort? Should he be worrying about parchment laced with curses? He bit his lip, thinking maybe he should beg Bill for a lesson, not that he expected to be any good at it, but it certainly would be very helpful.

He felt very conflicted. On one hand, he was incredibly bored, and simply throwing insults at them would not give much satisfaction for very long after they stopped replying, and then he would never be able to write to them again or have any idea who they were. In a way, he wished he had never started this, seeing a Slytherin as a fellow human. He didn't think Mephisto would want to hurt him. But that didn't matter much if Mephistopheles didn't even know who Jack was to avoid hurting him, and he wouldn't want a Death Eater showing him favoritism anyway.

What would his parents think of him trading secret messages in the dead of night with a Death Eater?

_'No tattoo, thanks. A portrait isn't very far from writing itself, is it? So definitely the right route. We could even use normal portraits if we could somehow keep them blabbing._

_I do not think I will have much choice, __**M**__' _he almost wrote the name, but stopped himself at the initial, then blotted it out.

'_I agree our friendship is based on fun, but mate I have to ask you not to join up with him! He's sick and slimey! What makes you think I'll have any choice in opposing him? I think he'll target folks like me. If he comes after me or my family, I'll have to defend myself. You can't just stay neutral in a war like this._

_But maybe you're right, maybe it'll be over by the time we'd ever have to face each other. _

_~ Your friend?'_

It was a bit deceitful, hinting that he might be a muggleborn or half-blood, but nothing he'd said there wasn't true. It was really likely his family was going to be attacked at some point, and it made him shiver to think of it. He glanced at the Daily Prophet, where an ominous snake entwined with a skull in smoke loomed up in the sky.

He never thought he'd be glad at not being able to immediately jump into a fight, but, honestly, Ron was feeling less than eager. This was for adults. He barely even knew how to fight, though Hogwarts would hopefully rectify that, and he really wished for some wicked cool spells next year.

Creeping through the dark to the window where the owl listened and waited, he sent the letter off.

* * *

><p><strong>D.M<strong>

Draco was less than thrilled himself, once more pondering the possibilities Faceless was a mudblood or Gryffindor fool and would soon die. He wouldn't have thought it when he saw that first writing making fun of Potter, but maybe he should have considering how many Slytherins seemed to adore Potter so much and the Light side eyed the boy, their so called savior, with wariness. They hadn't liked the way their celebrity had turned out at all, not that he blamed them at this point. He found himself worried their Dark Lord had a new favorite, or more like he heard his father worrying about it.

The fallen savior boy had not shown up at any Death Eater meetings however, so he couldn't have taken the mark yet.

Their obnoxious little house elf had disappeared too, for some reason. Elves weren't supposed to be able to disobey and flee their masters, or even want to, but Dobby had always been strange and annoying like that.

'I guess we will have to agree to disagree, for the moment. Friends.'

Time for a tactical change of subject to something a little less dangerous or morbid.

'So, it occurs to me I know not your birthday, and you know not mine. If we don't rectify this, how then shall we send presents to each other? Shall we just pick a day? I have a small present in mind for you you'd like I think, but I am open to suggestions.'

When the reply came back, it seemed relieved to change subjects but also surprised. '_Really, a present for me? ? ? I don't have one for you, and I won't be able to get one until near the start of the year._

_It also... can't be very expensive, sorry.' _

Hmm. Another point for the 'Jack is a Mudblood' theory. 'That's alright, I am used to being the richer one. I shall magnanimously ignore your poverty. But don't think you're cheating me out of a good present! I want, no, demand one.'

He poured in a small pouch worth of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder into the letter envelope. He felt it would be very useful for sneaking and hiding, so it was the perfect present for a secret friend.

* * *

><p><strong>R.W<strong>

Ron was pretty startled to see the powder in the mail, and felt a bit sheepish over the difficulty he had in choosing a present. Candy was safe, who didn't like candy, but did not feel like it would really do. What didn't Mephi already have? He sounded rich.

Games? No, he probably had a variety already.

Books? Could have a whole library for all he knew. But there was one thing that really fit, that the other as a first year probably would not have, and would have the side benefit of getting a little overdue payback on the twins. He could snitch some of their prank and joke items from Hogsmeade.

Waiting until they were distracted by de-gnoming the garden duties, and his mother cooking, he ultimately snitched a sugar quill, a couple wizard crackers, and a nose biting teacup. If Fred and George saw him with those, they'd prank him hard for days on end, but as long as they didn't have proof he could blame it on perhaps Percy confiscating stuff again.

Kinda mean? Yes.

Did the prats deserve it? Oh very much so. He still hadn't forgotten the time they'd turned his teddy bear into a spider, or burned a hole in his tongue, or tried to make him swear an unbreakable vow that could have killed him. Their jokes were rarely of the kind variety, being always at someone else's expense and always aimed at causing discomfort rather than amusement for the chosen victim. Why his parents tolerated it and didn't try to explain to them how cruel their jokes were was beyond Ron, but then, everyone had always told him he wasn't that bright.

Perhaps it was funny to everyone but him, he thought sourly, he who was 'too thick to get the joke'.

'That was faster than I expected, I like the quill,' the other responded soon after he sent the package.'Anyway, I found out something real useful, the protean charm, but it's NEWT level so it'll be awhile before we can master it. The new term is coming up soon, see you then?'

_'I am glad you like it. Sure, let's meet again by the old Founder's Tower, I have a secret to show you; remember I said I found a way in? Well, more accurately I _made_ a new way in. I think it'll be the perfect hide out for us, no one can get in there anymore so no one hangs around there, not like the school needs the extra space._

_We can practice that Protean charm and dueling and lots of stuff, it'll be fun. Maybe we should invite a couple people, even, though I'm not sure how to keep them from knowing our secret identity if we do that._

_Hidden invitations, kind of like how we started talking to each other the first time?' _Ron wrote back. The distraction of Harry Potter and Voldemort meeting up at the end of the year had served quite the distraction, and in the end they hadn't met up again, though they had wanted to.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

_(Shopping Day)_

Not much longer after that conversation, from which he had not yet received a reply, possibly such marking the last message between them until the train itself, his parents took him to Diagon Alley again. He begged them for a new wand better than his old hand me down one, but they refused; Arthur said they were a bit tight on money, as he always said it seemed like. Maybe next year, he promised.

Annoyingly, this year's teacher was an idiot named Lockhart; they had to buy all his books which was a total rip off. Maybe if they hadn't had to buy so many they could have bought him a new wand. His mum swooned over the blonde man way too much for his liking, it was really silly.

He didn't see Harry Potter, though he hadn't expected to. He did spot Neville Longbottom though talking to someone he faintly thought might be Looney Luna Lovegood though he hadn't seen her in quite some time despite living only a short distance away, and gave them a friendly wave.

Tensely, he spotted Draco Malfoy and Lucius Malfoy in the bookshop. It didn't take long for Arthur and Malfoy Sr. to start spitting insults at each other, and surprisingly for wizards the whole thing devolved into a fist fight. His mum made him and Ginny pile out of the shop, and the two adult male wizards were soon ushered out of the shop by the shopkeeper, who was less than amused.

That was the only real important event of the day, and in such tense times Ron had been genuinely frightened they might kill each other.

"It's okay, Ron," his father reassured him. "In public at least, Lucius likes to pretend he's innocent."

Ron wondered what it would mean if that ever changed. But he soon tossed it from his mind, for term would start very, very soon, and that meant an end to the monotony of his summer and the bored seemingly eternal wait to meet with Mephistopheles again.

Next up, the train!


	3. humanized

**/ short break \\.**

* * *

><p><strong>Note: <strong>_sooo I promised the next would be the second year train. I lied, had a small muse attack._

_Also, I feel I should explain my original inspiration for this fic in the first place. _

_You see, I have read some really terrible Harry Potter fics. Fics where Harry spends four or five chapters shopping, fics where Harry is so super special there is no real tension over whether he'll defeat his enemies or not, fics where Harry buys pureblood propoganda and hates muggles despite being presented as a good guy o_0, fics where Harry has a super fortune and acts like gifts auto-make him friends and bashes everyone, fics where he tosses unforgivables without even throwing up over his first kill... but by far and above, the absolute worst kind of fic I've ever read..._

_Is pedophile Harry fic._

_ Yeah, you heard me. It had dozens of positive reviews, and it was about Harry screwing other children before he even got to Hogwarts. Oh, but he wasn't even a child; he was actually a grown man who'd time traveled into a child's body, and used his seduction powers (Yes, seduction powers) on little girls. No, I don't have a link, I've done the best to try to scrub it from my memory, I would not link anyone to such a piece of crap in a million years anyway._

_So you see, by not butchering Harry into a million little pieces in this fic, I've actually exhibited a great deal of restraint I think. I have not, in the slightest way, made this Harry nearly as awful as some versions of Fanon!Harry. The whining over special schools and getting special wands? Directly inspired by actual fanfic. And compared to previously mentioned Worst Shitfic Ever (which had more than a fair share of Entitled Harry in it, as his literal justification for screwing underage children was that he was 'the savior and deserved some fun', I _**_wish_**_ I was making this shit up but that's the literal wording he used), not that bad._

_So in this chap, I humanize the little psycho monster. Because I like nuance._

_._

* * *

><p><strong><em>R.L<em>**

"In some ways, he's not actually that bad. He can be a very charming and friendly little boy when he wants to be," Remus said at a meeting, after Harry had gone to sleep and he'd managed to pry himself away. "I'm actually sort of beginning to understand why he's the way he is."

"He was decent in my class. I always found it difficult to believe he could actually support Voldemort. Why?" Minerva asked.

"Key word is when he wants to be. Potter clearly decides who he does and does not want to charm, and woe be to anyone he decides he doesn't care to charm," Severus said, holding his head and appearing to nurse a head ache.

"It's his upbringing. What role models did Harry have to decide right and wrong? Who did he have to point to and say what a loving family looked like?"

"Oh Merlin, you don't mean..."

"Exactly. The Dursleys." Remus nodded. "Only he can never let himself be fully aware of this because he has rejected them as opposite to himself, so he can't possibly sympathize or be like them in any way; that would threaten his mental image of himself. In rejecting them, though, he's lost sight of the fact deep down what he associates with a loving family is how the Dursleys treat and show love for Dudley, by letting him get away with nearly anything, telling him how precious he is, and getting presents and special toys. In his head, he believes he's completely justified because he really is the Chosen One who needs these things."

"Whereas Dudley is not and is just a muggle pig who stuffs his face," Minerva concluded uneasily.

"Right. When he bends the rules, it isn't because he's breaking them, it's because he is the law and he's only doing what is right, as adults are useless when they aren't giving him stuff and are clearly incapable of ever understanding him and incompetent at getting anything done." The last bit he was fairly rueful over, as Harry had only opened up to him very little despite his efforts.

"By the Founders, it makes perfect sense!" Minerva exclaimed. "That's why he gave gifts to other students he liked. That's why he demanded special treatment all the time and to have the rules bend his way, why he showed so much interest in shopping."

As someone who had to suffer a shopping trip with the boy, who seemed determined to get every pet possible ("But Harry, you'll barely have time to look after both a snake and an owl _and _a kneazle, and you need special permission to get a pet snake at the school!" "I am sure they will let me.") and massive fully customized wardrobe, extra cauldrons and books, the 'best broomstick', a new 'best wand ever' or three, looking into every little cranny of every shop... his enthusiasm was really quite exhausting. And Remus was dubious if half the stuff would even ever get used. But it had made Harry very happy and it was his own money being spent so frivolously and some of the items seemed somewhat useful, so who was he to disagree?

"In your opinion, can the boy be changed?" Albus asked, looking at him very hopefully over his reading spectacles.

"I think he's deeply damaged and it would take years, though he does seem to be warming up to me a little. A more normal boy might have come out of the Dursleys relatively unscathed, but Harry is fragile. He just couldn't take being ignored."

"We might not have years," Severus shook his head in disagreement. "The Dark Lord is researching blood magics and the prophecy. He's still interested in it, which is why he has made no move just yet to take over the ministry. I'd say Potter probably has at least a year of safety. I still favor expelling the little bastard, for what it's worth."

"Watch your mouth, Severus!" Molly Weasley scolded. Severus rolled his eyes, clearly not at all intimidated or agreeing in the slightest with her sentiment that 'bastard' was not a perfect title for the boy. As James's boy, he had to admit it pained him a little to hear Harry called a bastard, even if he was messed up.

It was strange, but he cared for him. Even knowing he might doom them all. "Harry is a bit delusional, but I think the idea of private tutoring would be very alluring to him. Let's give him a year or two in Hogwarts to simmer and hopefully maybe realize how little the Dark Lord actually cares about making his life interesting or fun there. If he doesn't shape up, you can expel him, with an excuse other than 'He committed treason by reviving the Dark Lord' which would make the Ministry look askance at him and put his life further in danger."

"You're right, we can't let on yet that we suspect the truth of that day. Harry is in danger from all sides, the Ministry and Voldemort, not to mention what the average witch or wizard on the street would do to him if they knew for certain he was more than a mild sympathizer."

"We could let the Ministry put him in Azkaban, he'd be safe enough there," mused Snape, who actually backpedaled – very slightly backpedaled – when everyone glared at him. "It isn't as if he isn't already insane."

"Severus, you're cruel." Remus sighed. "Please don't tell me petty grievances still drive you."

"Petty? Remus, you and that mutt rotting away tried to kill me. And no, I don't want to hear about how it was the wolf that made you do it." Severus's voice became sharp and acidic, more so than usual, and he stood up to his full height. "Your little gang never really apologized."

It was true Sirius had never been the slightest bit sorry... but then Sirius was someone best forgotten. "Sirius is no longer a friend of mine. I apologize, Severus. It wasn't funny, it never should have happened, I..." Remus's voice broke. "I should have realized right then what sort of wizard he was. And I didn't."

"Remus, it isn't your fault. Too many of us suspected the spy was you. We were all to blame." Dumbledore put in.

The cackling noise of the fireplace alerted them to someone arriving by floor powder. "You're late, Kingsley." Snape greeted, if you could call that a greeting.

"Bad news."

"More bad than usual?" Minerva quipped, then sipped her tea.

"Very. Sirius Black has escaped from Azkaban."

Remus's heart skipped a beat. Everyone looked shocked. "How? No one has ever managed that!"

"No one knows. I was hoping maybe you had a clue."

Remus gulped. "He.. he was an animagus." There, he'd just betrayed their secret. He hoped James could forgive him, where ever he was in the beyond. "Unregistered."

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

**A.W**

"Ron?" Arthur inquired, coming into the Burrow family kitchen quite early in the morning. No one else was up yet.

Ron looked up from his porridge, a but morose. Arthur bent down to see eye to eye with him. "Hey, Ron, I'm sorry about Scabbers. I gave one last look for him. I think he's well and truly gone. He was getting old, and sometimes animals crawl away to pass on when it is their time. It's not your fault, don't beat yourself up over it."

Ron sniffled, trembling, and held himself to try and stop it. Ron never liked showing pain or weakness to anyone, Arthur knew, even when it just got him more hurt for it. "Why should I c-care anyways? He wasn't really mine, anyways. He was Percy's first, and Percy didn't even wa-want him."

"Oh Ron." Arthur said awkwardly. "Percy simply grew out of having a pet." No, no, that wasn't the right thing to say at all, now was it? Bloody damn it, where was Molly when he needed her? Chasing the twins down and making them degnome the garden. Alright, let's see... "What I mean is, he wanted you to have the enjoyment of having a pet for yourself. We even went to the effort of getting special permission for you to have a rat. No other student has" had. "one." Arthur quirked a smile. "That's pretty special, right?"

"Y-yeah, but, you already got that permission for Percy." Hmm. This was not going to be as easy as he hoped it would be. It was quite normal for a young child to have a fit after experiencing death for the first time, so he didn't berate Ron at all his reaction which was really pretty mild even if it betrayed deep insecurities. He could still remember Charlie's reaction to the first time one of his pets had died. Poor boy had been in tears for days, although, Charlie had always been a little over-attached to his pets...

"Yes, well son, just because we give you hand me down things doesn't mean we don't love you. Your mother and I would give you more if we could."

"Yes it does!" Ron seemed to realize right as he said it how silly that sounded, but he kept on. "You didn't want me at all. You just kept on having children until you had a girl because you wanted Ginny. I'm the extra."

Arthur's face became ashen. Good Merlin, had the other children been teasing him about this in school? Where had he gotten this idea that there were too many children in the family? He knew many didn't approve, but to be so merciless... well, children were children. This was worse than he'd thought and he had to fix this now. "Ron! We love you. All of you kids. If I could go back and do it all again, I would not give up a single one of you-" Hmm, maybe one of the Twins would be tempting – no, bad Dad, bad! He loved them, really, they were just so tiring sometimes. "and I do not pick any favorites."

"Not even Ginny?"

"Not even Ginny. You're all my favorite." Arthur reassured him, patting him on the head. "Let's say you and me do something together, just father and son, what do you say?"

Ron lit up. "Really? Just me? But you never do something with just me!" There was chess, being two player, but Ron seemed to have forgotten about that. Arthur felt rather guilty he'd been neglecting the boy so much; he had never realized his child was so deeply unhappy.

"Yes, just you. What do you say to trying to turn the family car into the Batmobile?"

Ron's face lit up. "You know, I always cared a bit more for Ironman myself. He has a robot."

"Blasphemy!" Arthur waved his arms wildly. "I will not have such nonsense in my house! Batman is clearly the better hero."

"Batman can't fly without a plane. He just has his smarts. Ironman is basically robo-Batman. That automatically makes him better."

Arthur grinned. "Blasphemy, I tell you! How could I have raised such a little heathen under my own house? Batman has better villains, and he has only his own muggle strength and wits to protect him. That makes him better."

"Nu-uh," Ron disagreed with enjoyment, shaking his head.

"Does that mean you aren't on for decorating the car?" The poor Ford Angela would likely never be the same again, but on the other hand, _Batmobile. _Ron could be like his Robin and he could be Batman. A very red headed Batman. Who cast magic spells. Alright, that didn't quite work out right, but one could ignore a few details.

"No no, I'm on!" Ron hopped out of his seat and nearly ran out the door.

"Aren't you forgetting something young man?" Ron was always so impulsive, Arthur thought with amusement. It befitted a Gryffindor, at least.

"Wha? Oh, yeah!" Ron ran right back and put the dish in the sink, quickly running water over it so the food wouldn't cake on. Then he turned around. "Okay! Do you think we could turn it into a robot mecha, like a Transformer?"

Arthur tsked. This would be fun, but really, they needed to work on the boy's tastes!


End file.
